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Pope  Leo  XIII 
(Copyright,  1892,  by  Edward  Brandes  &,  Co.) 


From  a Photograph 


EIGHT  BOOK  SERIES 


STANDARD 
CATHOLIC  READERS 

BY  GRADES 

SEVENTH  YEAR 


BY 

MARY  E.  DOYLE 


PRINCIPAL  OF  HOLY  NAMES  NORMAL  SCHOOL,  SEATTLE, 
WASH.,  AND  FORMERLY  SUPERVISOR  OF  TEACHING 
STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL,  SUPERIOR,  WIS. 


NEW  YORK.;.  CINCINNATI.:.  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN  BOOK  COMPANY 


AOSTOlf  OOLLIO*  LIlRARl 
CHBSTWT  MlLLt  MASS. 


Copyright,  1909,  1913,  by 

MARY  E.  DOYLE. 


Stand.  Cath.  Readers  by  Grades. 
7th  Year. 

E.  P.  I 


i5ib08 


PREFACE 

The  selections  for  this  volume  have  been  chosen 
with  reference  both  to  their  elocutionary  variety  and 
to  their  authorship.  Although  some  of  them  are  not 
< generally  so  well  known  as  others,  nevertheless  each 
has  a particular  value  and  character  of  its  own,  and 
ought  to  be  familiar  to  every  student.  Nearly  all  of 
the  authors  represented  have  been  leaders  of  thought 
in  their  time,  and  their  works  include  no  inconsider- 
able portion  of  the  world’s  best  literature. 

In  the  preparation  of  this  series  of  readers,  valuable 
counsel  and  assistance  have  been  given  me  by  friendly 
educators  and  those  in  authority.  I am  especially 
indebted  to  the  Rt.  Rev.  John  Lancaster  Spalding  of 
Peoria,  for  advice  and  encouragement  in  the  plan- 
ning and  inception  of  the  work  ; also  to  the  Rt.  Rev. 
James  McGolrick  of  Duluth,  Minnesota,  to  the  Rt. 
Rev.  A.  F.  Schinner  of  Superior,  Wisconsin,  and  to 
other  prelates  and  clergy  who  have  graciously  assisted 
me  in  various  ways.  Many  thanks,  too,  for  kindly 
suggestions  and  criticisms,  are  hereby  proffered  to 
numerous  friends  among  those  patient  and  inspiring 
educators  — the  Sisters. 

MAKY  E.  DOYLE. 


3 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


The  selections  in  this  volume  from  James  Russell 
Lowell,  Henry  W.  Longfellow,  John  G.  Saxe,  John 
Burroughs,  Louise  Imogen  Guiney,  and  Agnes  Rep- 
plier  are  used  by  permission  of,  and  special  arrange- 
ment with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized 
publishers  of  the  works  of  these  writers.  Acknowl- 
edgments and  thanks  are  proffered  to  P.  J.  Kenedy 
& Sons  for  the  use  of  the  poems  by  Father  Ryan  and 
also  the  extract  from  Mrs.  Sadlier’s  Spanish  Cava- 
liers,” of  which  they  are  the  publishers  ; to  the  heirs 
of  John  Boyle  O’Reilly,  for  the  poem,  “ The  Ride  of 
Collins  Graves  ” ; to  Rand,  McNally  & Company,  for 
Charles  Warren  Stoddard’s  sketch  entitled,  “ Prin- 
kipo  ” ; to  Edith  Ogden  Harrison,  for  the  selection 
entitled,  The  Lily  ” ; to  the  Rt.  Rev.  John  Lan- 
caster Spalding,  for  tlie  selections  from  his  writings ; 
to  Eunice  A.  S.  Wellington,  for  the  poem  by  Eliza 
Allen  Starr ; to  the  publishers  of  Sursum  Corda,  for 
the  sketch  by  Henry  Whiteley;  and  to  Mary  F. 
Nixon-Roulet,  for  the  poem,  “ Tlie  Bells  of  Santa 
Ysabel,”  and  also  for  valuable  assistance  in  the 
preparation  of  these  readers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Distribution  of  Labor  . 

Emile  Souvestre  . 

9 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  . 

James  R.  Lowell  . 

13 

Flowers  without  Fruit  . 

Cardinal  Newman 

21 

Hymn  of  St.  Francis 

Matthew  Arnold  . 

23 

Into  the  Better  Land 

Father  Ryan 

27 

A Spanish  Tournament 

Mrs.  J.  Sadlier 

29 

What  the  Monks  have  Done 

Archbishop  Spalding  . 

36 

The  Ride  of  Collins  Graves  . 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly 

38 

The  Thought  of  Heaven 

St.  Francis  de  Sales 

41 

Thanatopsis 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

44 

The  Blind  Martyr 

Cardinal  Wiseman 

48 

“ Around  our  Pillows 

R.  H.  Stoddard  . 

54 

Bells  of  the  New  Year  . 
Polonius's  Advice  to  His  Son, 

Alfred  Tennyson  . 

55 

Laertes 

William  Shakespeare  . 

56 

The  Mountain  of  Miseries 

Joseph  Addison'  . 

57 

A Little  Heroine  . . . . 

Charlotte  M.  Yonge 

63 

Evangeline  . . . . 

Henry  W.  Longfellow  . 

70 

Prinkipo 

Charles  Warren  Stoddard  . 

78 

Solomon  and  the  Bees  . 

John  G.  Saxe 

83 

Whalefishing  in  the  Indian  Ocean 

Herman  Melville  . 

85 

The  Coming  of  the  Birds 

John  Burroughs  . 

93 

The  Names  of  Our  Lady 

Adelaide  A.  Procter 

99 

The  Two  Roads  . . . . 

Jean  Paul  Richter 

102 

Horatius 

Thomas  Bahington  Macaulay 

104 

The  Star  of  Religious  Freedom 

George  Bancroft  . 

122 

Mary’s  Intercession 

Sister  M.  Stanislaus  MacCarthy 

7 

124 

7 


8 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Maiy,  Queen  of  Scots  . . 

F.  Meline 

. 125 

Rosary 

Brother  Azarias  . 

. 130 

Knights  of  Weather 

Louise  Imogen  Guiney  . 

. 131 

The  Lily  ..... 

Edith  Ogden  Harrison  . 

. 133 

Habit 

Epictetus 

. 136 

Opportunity 

Bishop  Spalding  . 

. 139 

A Hero  ...... 

Eliza  Allen  Starr 

. 144 

The  Narrow  Path  .... 

Pope  Leo  XIII  . 

. 145 

Descent  into  the  IMaelstrom  . 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

. 146 

Pope  Leo  XIII  . 

. 160 

“ God  bless  our  Pope  ! ” 

Cardinal  Wiseman 

. 164 

The  Fall  of  the  Campanile  . 

Henry  Whiteley  . 

. 165 

The  Horizon 

Alice  Meynell 

. 171 

The  Taming  of  the  Wild  Horse  . 

Miles  Gerald  Keon 

. 176 

The  Bells  of  Santa  Ysabel  . 

Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet 

. 188 

One  by  One  ” 

Adelaide  A.  Procter 

. 189 

Agrippina 

Agnes  Repplier 

. 190 

The  Nubian 

Sir  Walter  Scott  . 

. 197 

Crossing  the  Bar  . 

Alfred  Tennyson  . 

. 209 

“ Beautiful  Mother  ” . 

Extract  from  a Fourth-of-July 

Rec.  K.  D.  Beste  . 

. 209 

Oration  ..... 

Daniel  Webster 

. 210 

Government  a Necessity  of  Society 

Orestes  A . Brownson 

212 

The  Universal  Prayer  . 

Alexander  Pope  . 

. 216 

Gettysburg  Address 

Abraham  Lincoln  , 

. 218 

A Message 

Father  Russell 

. 220 

SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  LABOR 

The  dawn  casts  a red  glow  on  my  bed  curtains ; 
the  breeze  brings  in  the  fragrance  of  the  gardens 
below ; here  I am  again  leaning  on  my  elbows  by  the 
window,  inhaling  the  freshness  and  gladness  of  this 
first  wakening  of  the  day. 

My  eye  always  passes  over  the  roofs  filled  with 
flowers,  warbling,  and  sunlight,  with  the  same  pleas- 
ure ; but  to-day  it  stops  at  the  end  of  a buttress  which 
separates  our  house  from  the  next.  The  storms 
have  stripped  the  top  of  its  plaster  covering,  and  dust 
carried  by  the  wind  has  collected  in  the  crevices,  and 
being  fixed  there  by  the  rain  has  formed  a sort  of 
aerial  terrace  where  some  green  grass  has  sprung  up. 
Amongst  it  rises  a stalk  of  wheat,  which  to-day  is  sur- 
mounted by  a sickly  ear  that  droops  its  yellow  head. 

This  poor  stray  crop  on  the  roofs,  the  harvest  of 
which  will  fall  do  the  neighboring  sparrows,  has  carried 
my  thoughts  to  the  rich  cj’ops  which  are  now  falling 
beneath  the  sickle ; it  has  recalled  to  me  the  beautiful 
walks  I took  as  a child  through  my  native  province, 
when  the  thrashing  floors  at  the  farmhouses  resounded 

9 


10 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


from  every  part  with  the  sound  of  the  flail,  and  when 
the  carts,  loaded  with  golden  sheaves,  came  in  by  all 
the  roads.  I still  remember  the  songs  of  the  maidens, 
the  cheerfulness  of  the  old  men,  the  open-hearted 
merriment  of  the  laborers.  There  was,  at  that  time, 
something  in  their  looks  both  of  pride  and  feeling. 
The  latter  came  from  thankfulness  to  God,  the  former 
from  the  sight  of  the  harvest,  the  reward  of  their 
labor.  They  felt  indistinctly  the  grandeur  and  the 
holiness  of  their  part  in  the  general  work  of  the  world ; 
they  looked  with  pride  upon  their  mountains  of  corn 
sheaves,  and  they  seemed  to  say,  “Next  to  God,  it  is 
we  who  feed  the  world  ! ” 

What  a wonderful  order  there  is  in  all  human  labor  ! 
Whilst  the  husbandman  furrows  his  land  and  prepares 
for  every  one  his  daily  bread,  the  town  artisan,  far 
away,  weaves  the  stuff  in  which  he  is  to  be  clothed ; 
the  miner  seeks  under  ground  the  iron  for  his  plow; 
the  soldier  defends  him  against  the  invader ; the  judge 
takes  care  that  the  law  protects  his  fields ; the  tax 
comptroller  adjusts  his  private  interests  with  those 
of  the  public ; the  merchant  occupies  himself  in 
exchanging  his  products  with  those  of  distant  countries ; 
the  men  of  science  and  of  art  add  every  da)^  a few  horses 
to  this  ideal  team  which  draws  along  the  material 
world,  as  steam  impels  the  gigantic  trains  of  our 
iron  roads ! Thus  all  unite  together,  all  help  one 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


11 


another ; the  toil  of  each  one  benefits  himself  and  all 
the  world ; the  work  has  been  apportioned  among 
the  different  members  of  the  whole  of  society  by  a 
tacit  agreement.  If,  in  this  apportionment,  errors 
are  committed  — if  certain  individuals  have  not  been 
employed  according  to  their  capacities,  these  defects 
of  detail  diminish  in  the  sublime  conception  of  the 
whole.  The  poorest  man  included  in  this  association 
has  his  place,  his  work,  his  reason  for  being  there ; 
each  is  something  in  the  whole. 

There  is  nothing  like  this  for  man  in  the  state  of 
nature ; as  he  depends  only  upon  himself,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  he  be  sufficient  for  everything,  — all  crea- 
tion is  his  property ; but  he  finds  in  it  as  many  hin- 
drances as  helps.  He  must  surmount  these  obstacles 
with  the  single  strength  that  God  has  given  him ; he 
cannot  reckon  on  any  other  aid  than  chance  and  oppor- 
tunity. No  one  reaps,  manufactures,  fights,  or  thinks 
for  him ; he  is  nothing  to  any  one.  He  is  a unit  mul- 
tiplied by  the  cipher  of  his  own  single  powers,  while 
the  civilized  man  is  a unit  multiplied  by  the  powers  of 
the  whole  of  society. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  the  other  day,  disgusted 
by  the  sight  of  some  vices  in  detail,  I cursed  the  latter, 
and  almost  envied  the  life  of  the  savage. 

Was  the  misery,  the  sight  of  which  made  me  regret 
a savage  life,  really  the  effect  of  civilization  ? Must 


12 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


we  accuse  society  of  having  created  these  evils,  or 
acknowledge,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  has  alleviated 
them  ? Could  the  women  and  children  who  were 
receiving  the  coarse  bread  from  the  soldier  hope  in 
the  desert  for  more  help  or  pity?  That  dead  man, 
whose  forsaken  state  I deplored,  had  he  not  found, 
by  the  cares  of  a hospital,  a coffin,  and  the  humble 
grave  where  he  was  about  to  rest  ? Alone,  and  far 
from  men,  he  would  have  died  like  the  wild  beast  in 
his  den,  and  would  now  be  serving  as  food  for  vultures  ! 

These  benefits  of  human  society  are  shared,  then, 
by  the  most  destitute.  WTioever  eats  the  bread  that 
another  has  reaped  and  kneaded  is  under  an  obliga- 
tion to  his  brother,  and  cannot  say  he  owes  him  noth- 
ing in  return.  The  poorest  of  us  has  received  from 
society  much  more  than  his  own  single  strength  would 
have  permitted  him  to  wrest  from  nature. 

But  cannot  society  give  us  more  ? Who  doubts  it  ? 
Errors  have  been  committed  in  this  distribution  of 
tasks  and  workers.  Time  will  diminish  the  numl)er  of 
them ; with  new  lights  a better  division  will  arise ; 
the  elements  of  society  go  on  towards  perfection  like 
everything  else ; the  difficulty  is  to  know  how  to  adapt 
ourselves  to  the  slow  step  of  time,  whose  progress  can 
never  be  forced  on  without  danger. 

— Emile  Souvestre. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


13 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 
Part  First 

I 

“My  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 

And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 

For  to-morrow  I go  over  land  and  sea 
In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Shall  never  a bed  for  me  be  spread, 

Nor  shall  a pillow  be  under  my  head. 

Till  I begin  my  vow  to  keep ; 

Here  on  the  rushes  will  I sleep. 

And  perchance  there  may  come  a vision  true 
Ere  day  create  the  world  anew.” 

Slowly  Sir  Launfal’s  eyes  grew  dim. 

Slumber  fell  like  a cloud  on  him. 

And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 

II 

The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 

In  the  pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their  knees. 
The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 
The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 

And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the  trees : 
The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 
Like  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray : 


14 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


’Twas  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Countree, 
And  never  its  gates  might  opened  be, 

Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree ; 

Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 

But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied ; 

She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall. 

Though  around  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 
Stretched  left  and  right. 

Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight ; 

Green  and  broad  was  every  tent. 

And  out  of  each  a murmur  went 
Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 

Ill 

The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a surly  clang. 

And  through  the  dark  arch  a charger  sprang. 
Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight. 

In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its  wall 
In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long. 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf. 

Had  cast  them  forth ; So,  young  and  strong. 
And  lightsome  as  a locust  leaf. 

Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  maiden  mail. 

To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


15 


IV 

It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree, 

And  morning  in  the  young  knight’s  heart; 

Only  the  castle  moodily 

Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 

And  gloomed  by  itself  apart ; 

The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up 
Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher  plant’s  cup. 

V 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate 
He  was  ’ware  of  a leper,  crouched  by  the  same, 

Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he  sate ; 

And  a loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came ; 

The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a thrill. 

The  flesh  ’neath  his  armor  ’gan  shrink  and  crawl. 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 
Like  a frozen  waterfall ; 

For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature. 

Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature. 

And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn,  — 

So  he  tossed  him  a piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

VI 

The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust: 

“Better  to  me  the  poor  man’s  crust. 


16 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 

Though  I turn  me  empty  from  his  door; 

That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold ; 

He  gives  only  the  worthless  gold 
Who  gives  from  a sense  of  duty; 

But  he  who  gives  but  a slender  mite, 

And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  — 

The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 

The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms. 

For  a god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 

To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  before." 

Part  Second 

I 

There  was  never  a leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 

The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly ; 

The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak. 

For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun ; 

A single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  its  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun ; 
Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold. 

As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old. 

And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 

For  a last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 


SlK  LaUMAL  AM)  THE  LePER 


SEA'ENTH  YEAR 


17 


II 

Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 

For  another  heir  in  )iis  earldom  sate; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail. 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 
Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom’s  loss. 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross, 
But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore. 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

III 

Sir  Launfal’s  raiment  thin  and  spare 
Was  idle  mail  ’gainst  the  barbed  air. 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time; 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a shelter  from  cold  and  snow 
In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago. 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 
O’er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small. 
Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one. 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun. 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 
To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass. 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade, 
And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 

And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

CATHOLIC  KEADLK6.  7tH  YK. 'I 


18 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


IV 

“For  Christ’s  sweet  sake,  I beg  an  alms”; 

The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 

But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 

The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone. 

That  cowers  beside  him,  a thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

V 

And  Sir  Launfal  said,  “I  behold  in  thee 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree ; 

Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns. 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  world’s  buffets  and  scorns, 

And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 

The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side : 

Mild  Mary’s  Son  acknowledged  me ; 

Behold,  through  him,  I give  to  thee ! ” 

VI 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 
And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a haughtier  guise 
He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie. 

When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


19 


The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust ; 

He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 

He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet’s  brink, 

And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink, 

’Twas  a moldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

’Twas  water  out  of  a wooden  bowl,  — 

Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed. 

And  ’twas  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

VII 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a downcast  face, 

A light  shone  round  about  the  place ; 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 

But  stood  before  him  glorified. 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate,  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

VIII 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine. 
That  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 
With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon ; 

And  the  voice  that  was  softer  than  silence  said, 

“Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid  ! 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 


20 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 
Behold,  it  is  here,  — this  cup  which  thou 
Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now. 
The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed. 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another’s  need ; 

Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share. 

For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare; 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  me.” 

IX 

Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a swound : 

“The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found! 

Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall. 

Let  it  be  the  spider’s  banquet  hall ; 

He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail.” 

X 

The  castle  gate  stands  open  now. 

And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 
As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm  tree  bough ; 

No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall. 

The  Summer’s  long  siege  at  last  is  o’er; 
When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door, 
She  entered  with  him  in  disguise. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


21 


And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise ; 

There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground, 

She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year  round ; 
The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal’s  land 
Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command ; 

And  there’s  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 
But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


FLOWERS  WITHOUT  FRUIT 

Prune  thou  thy  words,  the  thoughts  control 
That  o’er  thee  swell  and  throng; 

They  will  condense  within  thy  soul 
And  change  to  purpose  strong. 

But  he  who  lets  his  feelings  run 
In  soft  luxurious  flow. 

Shrinks  when  hard  service  must  be  done, 

And  faints  at  every  woe. 

Faith’s  meanest  deed  more  favor  bears. 

Where  hearts  and  wills  are  weigh’d. 

Than  brightest  transports,  choicest  prayers. 
Which  bloom  their  hour  and  fade. 

— Caudinal  Newman. 


22 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Statue  of  St.  Francis  at  Assisi. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


23 


THE  HYMN  OF  ST.  FRANCIS 

In  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century  there 
appeared  in  Italy,  to  the  north  of  Rome,  in  the  beautiful 
Umbrian  country  at  the  foot  of  the  Apennines,  a 
figure  of  the  most  magical  power  and  charm  — St. 
Francis.  His  century  is,  I think,  the  most  interesting 
in  the  history  of  Christianity  after  its  primitive  age ; 
and  one  of  the  chief  figures,  perhaps  the  very  chief, 
to  which  this  interest  attaches  itself,  is  St.  Francis. 
He  founded  the  most  popular  body  of  ministers  of 
religion  that  has  ever  existed  in  the  Church. 

He  transformed  monachism  by  uprooting  the  sta- 
tionary monk,  delivering  him  from  the  bondage  of 
property,  and  sending  him,  as  a mendicant  friar,  to  be 
a stranger  and  sojourner,  not  in  the  wilderness,  but  in 
the  most  crowded  haunts  of  men,  to  console  them  and 
to  do  them  good.  This  popular  instinct  of  his  is  at 
the  bottom  of  his  famous  marriage  with  poverty. 
Poverty  and  suffering  are  the  condition  of  the  people, 
the  multitude,  the  immense  majority  of  mankind ; and 
it  was  toward  this  people  that  his  soul  yearned.  “ He 
listens,”  it  was  said  of  him,  “to  those  to  whom  God 
Himself  seems  not  to  listen.” 

So,  in  return,  as  no  other  man  he  was  listened  to. 
When  an  Umbrian  town  or  village  heard  of  his  approach, 
the  whole  population  went  out  in  joyful  procession  to 


24 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


meet  him,  with  green  boughs,  flags,  music,  and  songs  of 
gladness.  The  master  who  began  with  two  disciples 
could  in  his  own  lifetime  (and  he  died  at  forty-four) 
collect  to  keep  Whitsuntide  with  him,  in  presence  of 
an  immense  multitude,  five  thousand  of  his  Minorites. 
He  found  fulfillment  to  his  prophetic  cry  : “ I hear  in 
my  ears  the  sound  of  the  tongues  of  all  the  nations  who 
shall  come  unto  us  — Frenchmen,  Spaniards,  Germans, 
Englishmen.  The  Lord  will  make  of  us  a great  people, 
even  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth.” 

Prose  could  not  satisfy  this  ardent  soul,  and  he  made 
poetry.  Latin  was  too  learned  for  this  simple,  popular 
nature,  and  he  composed  in  his  mother  tongue,  in 
Italian.  The  beginnings  of  the  mundane  poetry  of 
the  Italians  are  in  Sicily  at  the  court  of  kings ; the 
beginnings  of  their  religious  poetry  are  in  Umbria, 
with  St.  Francis.  His  are  the  humble  upper  waters 
of  a mighty  stream ; at  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century  it  is  St.  Francis;  at  the  end,  Dante. 

St.  Francis’s  Canticle  of  the  Sun,  Canticle  of  the  Crea- 
tures (the  poem  goes  by  both  names),  is  designed  for 
popular  use ; artless  in  language,  irregular  in  rhythm,  it 
matches  with  the  childlike  genius  that  produced  it 
and  the  simple  natures  that  loved  and  repeated  it : 

0 Lord  God  ! most  high,  omnipotent,  and  gracious ! 
To  Thee  belong  praise,  glorj^,  honor,  and  all  benedic- 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


25 


tion  ! All  things  do  refer  to  Thee.  No  man  is  worthy 
to  name  Thee. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  all  Thy  creatures ; 
especially  for  our  brother,  the  sun,  who  brings  us  the 
day  and  who  brings  us  the  light ; fair  is  he,  and  shin- 
ing with  a very  great  splendor;  0 Lord,  he  signifies 
to  us  Thee  ! 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  sisters,  the 
moon  and  the  stars,  the  which  Thou  hast  set  clear  and 
lovely  in  heaven. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  brothers,  the 
winds,  and  for  air  and  clouds,  calms  and  all  weather 
by  the  which  Thou  upholdest  life  in  all  creatures. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  sister,  the 
water,  who  is  very  serviceable  unto  us,  and  lowly, 
and  precious,  and  pure. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  brother,  the 
fire,  through  whom  Thou  givest  us  light  in  the  dark- 
ness ; and  he  is  bright,  and  pleasant,  and  very  mighty, 
and  strong. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  mother,  the 
earth,  the  which  doth  sustain  and  nourish  us,  and 
bringeth  forth  divers  fruits,  and  flowers  of  many  colors, 
and  grass. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0 my  T.iord,  for  all  those  who  par- 
don one  another  for  Thy  love’s  sake,  and  who  endure 
weakness  and  tribulation  ; blessed  are  they  who  peace- 


26 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


ably  shall  endure,  for  Thou,  0 Most  Highest,  shalt 
give  them  a crown. 

Praise  be, to  Thee,  0 my  Lord,  for  our  sister,  the 
death  of  the  body,  from  whom  no  man  escapeth. 
Alas  ! for  such  as  die  in  mortal  sin.  Blessed  are  they 
who,  in  the  hour  of  death,  are  found  living  in  con- 
formity to  Thy  most  holy  will,  for  the  second  death 
shall  have  no  power  to  do  them  harm. 

All  creatures,  praise  ye  and  bless  ye  the  Lord,  and  give 
thanks  unto  Him,  and  serve  Him  with  all  humility. 

It  is  natural  that  man  should  take  pleasure  in  his 
senses.  It  is  natural,  also,  that  he  should  take  refuge 
in  his  heart  and  imagination  from  his  misery.  When 
one  thinks  what  human  life  is  for  the  vast  majority  of 
mankind,  its  needful  toils  and  conflicts,  one  under- 
stands the  charm  for  them  of  a refuge  offered  in  the 
heart  and  imagination. 

The  poetry  of  St.  Francis’s  hymn  is  poetry  treating 
the  world  according  to  the  heart  and  imagination.  It 
takes  the  world  by  its  inward,  symbolical  side.  It 
admits  the  whole  world,  rough  and  smooth,  painful 
and  pleasure-giving,  all  alike,  but  all  transfigured  by 
the  power  of  a spiritual  emotion,  all  brought  under  a 
law  of  supersensual  love,  having  its  seat  in  the  soul. 
It  can  thus  even  say,  “Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our 
sister,  the  death  of  the  body.”  — Matthew  Arnold. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


27 


INTO  THE  BETTER  LAND 

Out  of  the  shadows  of  sadness, 

Into  the  sunshine  of  gladness, 

Into  the  light  of  the  blest ; 

Out  of  a land  very  dreary. 

Out  of  the  world  very  weary. 

Into  the  rapture  of  rest. 

Out  of  to-day’s  sin  and  sorrow. 

Into  a blissful  to-morrow. 

Into  a day  without  gloom ; 

Out  of  a land  filled  with  sighing. 

Land  of  the  dead  and  the  dying. 

Into  a land  without  tomb. 

Out  of  a life  of  commotion. 

Tempest-swept  oft  as  the  ocean. 

Dark  with  the  wrecks  drifting  o’er. 

Into  a land  calm  and  quiet. 

Never  a storm  cometh  nigh  it. 

Never  a wreck  on  its  shore. 

Out  of  a life  ever  mournful. 

Out  of  a land  verj"  lornful. 

Where  in  bleak  exile  we  roam. 

Into  a joy  land  above  us. 

Where  there’s  a Father  to  love  us. 

Into  our  home  — “Sweet  Home.” 

— Father  Ryan. 


28 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


A Tournament. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


29 


. A SPANISH  TOURNAMENT 

The  day  of  the  festival  at  length  arrived,  that  day 
so  long,  so  ardently  expected.  The  people  rushed  in 
crowds  from  the  gates  of  Granada  and  bent  their  steps 
towards  that  part  of  the  plain  which  had  been  chosen 
for  the  tournament. 

A gallery  extended  on  either  side  of  the  lists.  At 
one  end  was  seen  a sort  of  wooden  castle  painted  to 
imitate  stone,  and  capable  of  containing  a large  number 
of  armed  men.  Over  the  tower  which  crowned  this 
edifice  floated  a rich  banner  adorned  with  a red  cross 
— this  was  the  arms  of  the  Order  of  Calatrava,  the 
Grand  Master  of  which  was  to  open  the  tournament. 
It  was  surrounded  by  other  smaller  banners  belonging 
to  the  four  knights  chosen  to  maintain  the  defiance  of 
the  challenger. 

At  the  opposite  end  there  was  raised  a magnificent 
pavilion  adorned  with  flags  and  pennons  of  the  most 
brilliant  colors,  bearing  devices  embroidered  in  gold 
and  silver.  This  pavilion  was  intended  for  the  knights 
who  presented  themselves  to  fight  the  challenger  and 
his  adherents. 

About  the  middle  of  the  gallery  rose  a platform, 
which  had  been  constructed  for  the  queen  and  her 
attendants.  It  was  hung  with  scarlet  cloth  richly 


30 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


embroidered,  and  the  corners  were  furnished  with 
spiral  columns  supporting  a dais  of  crimson  velvet 
surmounted  by  the  royal  arms  of  Spain. 

In  front  of  this  platform  there  were  seen  two  others, 
one  which  was  reserved  for  the  judges  of  the  lists,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  decide  on  the  merits  of  the  combatants 
and  award  the  prizes ; the  other  for  the  nobles  and  the 
principal  citizens  of  Granada ; whilst  the  galleries 
right  and  left  were  free  of  access  to  all  comers,  on  the 
rule  of  “first  come,  first  served.” 

Every  seat  was  already  occupied  when  the  great 
bells  of  the  cathedral  were  put  in  motion,  announcing 
the  arrival  of  the  queen. 

Isabella  appeared,  surrounded  by  a brilliant  and 
numerous  train ; she  was  greeted  with  joyous  shouts 
by  the  people,  who  rejoiced  far  more  in  seeing  their 
beloved  queen  than  even  in  the  prospect  of  the  day’s 
amusement. 

The  queen  was  clothed  in  a magnificent  robe  of 
blue  velvet,  studded  with  brilliants ; a veil  of  some 
costly  tissue  adorned  with  towers,  lions,  and  other 
symbolical  figures  was  fastened  to  the  top  of  her 
head,  like  the  mantillas  still  worn  by  the  Spanish  women, 
and  fell  in  graceful  folds  over  her  neck  and  shoulders. 
On  her  bosom  sparkled  the  jeweled  insignia  of  the 
Order  of  St.  James  and  of  Calatrava,  already  illustrious 
from  their  many  heroes  and  knights  of  high  renown. 


seventh  year 


31 


Whilst  the  platform  on  which  the  queen  sat  pre- 
sented all  the  magnihcence  of  a sumptuous  court,  the 
galleries  offered  a scene  no  less  striking.  Nothing 
could  be  more  picturesque  than  the  mixture  of  Spanish 
and  Moorish  costumes,  for  the  two  races  appeared  to 
fraternize  with  a greater  appearance  of  cordiality  than 
was  ever  before  seen.  Their  joyous  faces,  illumined 
by  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  sun,  their  eager  and 
animated  looks,  contributed  not  a little  to  the  imposing 
character  of  the  scene. 

The  sound  of  trump  and  clarion  announced  the  open- 
ing of  the  sports.  In  a moment  the  inclosure  was 
deserted,  the  heralds  alone  remaining  vuthin.  Ad- 
vancing to  the  four  corners  of  the  lists  they  proceeded 
to  proclaim  the  challenge.  This  challenge,  couched 
in  the  language  of  chivalry,  declared  that  the  chal- 
lenger and  his  friends,  Don  Manuel,  Ponce  de  Leon, 
the  Alcade  de  Los  Donceles,  Count  Cifuentes,  and 
Don  Antonio  de  Leyva,  invited  all  knights  who  wished 
to  try  their  prowess  to  break  a lance  with  them,  if 
any  were  bold  enough  to  dispute  the  prize  of  victory 
with  such  valiant  knights. 

As  soon  as  the  challenge  was  proclaimed,  the  hei’alds 
retired,  the  trumpets  sounded  again,  the  gates  of  the 
castle  were  thrown  open,  and  forth  came  the  five 
knights  whose  noble  names  had  just  been  announced. 

Their  costume  corresponded  with  the  s])lendor  of 


32 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


their  armor,  which  they  wore  with  the  greatest  ease 
and  dignity.  A short  cloak  of  white  velvet  covered  the 
silvery  corselet  of  the  Grand  Master,  and  his  shield  was 
easily  distinguished  by  the  Red  Cross  of  Calatrava  on  a 
field  argent  with  the  motto : For  HER  and  my  King. 

The  equipment  of  the  other  knights  resembled  that 
of  the  challenger,  differing  only  in  the  color  of  the  cloak 
and  the  device  which  decorated  the  shield  of  each.  All 
the  five  were  mounted  on  milk-white  steeds,  no  less 
remarkable  for  their  elegant  proportions  than  the  rich 
ornaments  which  sparkled  on  their  housings  and  har- 
ness. The  proud  animals  pawed  the  earth  impatiently, 
as  though  indignant  at  the  delay,  neighing  and  snort- 
ing with  an  air  that  seemed  to  invite  opposition. 

A moment  after,  and  five  other  knights  appeared  to 
take  up  the  gauntlets.  The  lists  were  their  own  for  a 
short  space,  during  which  the  spectators  had  time  to 
observe  them.  They  all  wore  coats  of  mail,  and  their 
fleet  coursers,  black  as  jet,  seemed  chosen  to  contrast 
with  those  of  their  opponents. 

But  their  chief  refused  to  declare  his  name,  adding 
that  his  four  companions  were  ready  to  answer  for 
him.  He  was  generally  supposed  to  be  Gonsalvo  de 
Cordova,  who  had  left  the  court  in  a fit  of  ill  humor. 

Of  the  other  knights,  who  were  easily  recognized  by 
their  colors  and  devices,  notwithstanding  their  closed 
visors,  the  most  remarkable  was  Don  Pedro,  son  of 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


33 


Alonzo  d’Aguilar.  Endowed  with  an  intrepidity  be- 
yond his  age,  this  young  man  engrossed  his  full  share 
of  the  interest  which  gathered  around  his  illustrious 
family.  On  his  shield  was  a golden  eagle,  the  emblem 
of  his  name,  Aguilar.  The  eagle  was  soaring  on  the 
clouds,  with  the  body  of  a Moor  between  his  talons, 
and  beneath  was  the  inscription  : “I  will  raise  him  even 
to  heaven  to  make  his  fall  the  greater.”  It  was  also  the 
device  of  Alonzo,  who  was  charmed  to  see  in  his  son 
that  implacable  hatred  of  the  Saracen  name  which  he 
himself  had  received  as  a legacy  from  his  fathers. 

By  the  side  of  Don  Pedro  was  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega. 
To  the  arms  of  his  ’ family  he  had  lately  added  an 
Infidel’s  head  hanging  at  a horse’s  tail,  and  the  motto 
consisted  of  but  two  words  engraved  on  the  edge  of 
the  shield.  It  was ; ave  marie.  The  knight  had 
chosen  this  device  in  remembrance  of  a famous  and 
singular  combat  which  he  had  had  under  the  walls  of 
Granada,  with  a Moor  who  had  the  insolence  to  fasten 
the  Angelical  Salutation  to  his  horse’s  tail. 

The  two  other  champions  were  Count  Urena  and 
the  young  Sayavedra,  both  brave  and  loyal  knights. 

They  all  five  rode  towards  the  castle,  and  having 
each  struck  twice  on  a metal  plate,  suspended  near  the 
gate  for  that  purpose,  they  retired.  Then  the  chal- 
lengers came  forth  anew,  and  the  coinl>atants  were 
face  to  face  with  each  other. 


CATHOLIC  READERS.  7th  YR.  3 


34 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


At  a signal  given,  the  ten  champions  advanced  with 
lightning  speed ; nevertheless,  such  perfect  control 
had  they  of  their  horses  that  they  reached  the  center 
of  the  lists  at  the  same  instant,  and  the  crash  of  their 
meeting  seemed  as  one  tremendous  shock.  Their 
lances  were  shivered  to  their  very  wrists,  but  still  the 
knights  sat  unmoved  in  their  saddles. 

Having  received  new  lances,  they  renewed  the  attack 
with  the  same  impetuosity  and  the  same  precision, 
but  not  with  the  same  result  as  before.  Victory  de- 
clared for  the  knights  of  the  castle. 

The  youthful  Don  Pedro  could  not  withstand  the 
superior  force  of  Ponce  de  Leon ; Garcilasso  was 
unhorsed  by  Antonio  de  Leyva ; and  the  two  other 
companions  of  the  unknown  knight  were  successively 
vanquished  by  the  Alcade  and  the  Count  de  Cifuentes. 
As  for  the  chiefs  on  either  side,  they  remained  firm  in 
their  stirrups,  and  both  appeared  uninjured. 

The  cries  of  the  spectators  and  the  sound  of  the  trum- 
pets proclaimed  the  victory  of  the  Grand  Master  and 
his  knights,  and  they  all  returned  to  the  castle,  ready 
to  renew  the  combat  with  any  who  might  wish  to  have 
a tilt  with  them. 

Don  Pedro,  whose  lofty  spirit  could  not  brook  the 
idea  of  defeat,  mounted  a fresh  steed,  and  galloping 
up  to  the  castle,  defied  the  challenger  himself.  Don 
Alonzo  beheld  the  noble  courage  of  his  son  with  a 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


35 


mixture  of  joy  and  fear ; such  heroic  valor  in  one  so 
young  overwhelmed  him  with  joy,  but  he  trembled 
at  the  same  time  for  the  possible  conseciuences  of  so 
much  boldness. 

The  dial  sounded  twice,  and  the  Grand  Master 
issued  forth,  astonished  at  the  young  knight’s  presump- 
tion. They  took  their  places,  and  the  trumpets  gave 
the  signal. 

The  first  meeting  seemed  to  announce  such  an 
equality  of  strength  in  the  two  adversaries  that  the 
whole  assembly,  intensely  anxious  for  the  result, 
began  to  salute  Don  Pedro  with  joyful  acclamations. 
The  women  especially,  who,  in  such  circumstances, 
always  take  part  with  the  weakest,  waved  then-  scarfs 
and  kerchiefs  to  encourage  the  youthful  knight,  whose 
courage,  nevertheless,  recjuired  no  such  stimulus. 

In  the  second  attack,  Don  Pedro  was  not  so  for- 
tunate. The  Grand  iVIaster,  jealous  of  his  hard-won 
reputation  and  determined  not  to  leave  the  victory 
with  his  boyish  adversary,  had  redoubled  his  atten- 
tion and  put  forth  all  his  skill  and  force. 

Don  Pedro  could  not  resist  the  weight  of  his  pon- 
derous blows ; the  lance  escaped  from  his  failing  hand, 
and  he  quitted  the  field  with  honor  indeed,  but  still 
vanquished. 

— From  Spanish  Cavaliers,  by  Mrs.  J.  Sadlier. 


36 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


WHAT  THE  MONKS  HAVE  DONE 

It  was  a monk — Roger  Bacon — who  discovered  and 
explained  those  principles  which  a little  later  led 
another  monk  — Schwartz  of  Cologne  — to  invent  gun- 
powder; and  which,  more  fully  developed  some  cen- 
turies afterward  by  the  great  Catholic  philosopher 
Galileo,  enabled  him  to  invent  the  microscope  and  the 
telescope.  It  was  a monk  — ■ Salvino  of  Pisa  — who, 
in  the  twelfth  century,  invented  spectacles  for  the 
old  and  shortsighted.  To  the  monks  — Pacifico  of 
Verona,  the  great  Gerbert,  and  William,  abbot  of 
Hirschau  — we  owe  the  invention  of  clocks,  between 
the  tenth  and  the  twelfth  centuries. 

It  was  the  monks  who,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  taught 
the  people  agriculture,  and  who,  by  their  skillful  in- 
dustry, reclaimed  whole  tracts  of  waste  land.  It 
was  the  monks  who  first  cultivated  botany  and  made 
known  the  hidden  medicinal  properties  of  plants.  It 
is  to  the  monks  that  we  are  in  all  probability  indebted 
for  the  paper  on  which  we  write.  It  was  the  monk 
Gerbert  who  first  introduced  into  Europe  the  arith- 
metical numbers  of  the  Arabs  (a.d.  991),  and  who  thus 
laid  the  foundation  of  arithmetical  and  mathematical 
studies. 

It  was  an  Italian  priest  — Galvani  — who  first  dis- 
covered the  laws  of  the  subtile  fluid  called  after  him. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


37 


It  was  a Spanish  Benedictine  monk  — Pedro  da  Ponce 
— who  (a.d.  1570)  first  taught  Europe  the  art  of  in- 
structing the  deaf  and  dumb.  It  was  a French  Catholic 
priest  — the  Abbe  Plaiiy  — who,  in  a work  published 
toward  the  close  of  the  last  century,  first  unfolded  the 
principles  of  the  modern  science  of  mineralogy. 

It  was  a Catholic  priest  — Nicholas  Copernicus  — 
who,  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  promul- 
gated the  theory  of  a system  of  the  world,  called  after 
him  — the  Copernican  — which  is  now  generally  re- 
ceived, and  which  led  to  the  brilliant  discoveries  of 
Kepler  and  Galileo,  and  formed  the  basis  of  the  splendid 
mathematical  demonstrations  of  Newton  and  Laplace. 
Finally,  it  is  to  the  missionary  zeal  of  Catholic  priests 
that  we  are  indebted  for  most  of  our  earliest  maritime 
and  geographical  knowledge. 

The  Catholic  priest  always  accompanied  voyages 
of  discovery  and  expeditiorrs  of  conquest ; often  stimu- 
lating the  former  by  his  zeal  for  the  salvation  of  sorrls, 
and  softening  down  the  rigors  of  the  latter  by  the  exer- 
cises of  his  heroic  charity.  Catholic  priests  were  at 
all  times  the  pioneers  of  civilizatiorr. 

— ARCtrarsHOP  SpALnrNG. 


38 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  RIDE  OF  COLLINS  GRAVES 

No  song  of  a soldier  riding  down 

To  the  raging  fight  from  Winchester  town ; 

No  song  of  a time  that  shook  the  earth 
With  the  nations’  throe  at  a nation’s  birth ; 

But  the  song  of  a brave  man,  free  from  fear 
As  Sheridan’s  self  or  Paul  Revere ; 

Who  risked  what  they  risked,  free  from  strife. 
And  its  promise  of  glorious  pay  — his  life  ! 

The  peaceful  valley  has  waked  and  stirred. 

And  the  answering  echoes  of  life  are  heard  : 

The  dew  still  clings  to  the  trees  and  grass. 

And  the  early  toilers  smiling  pass. 

As  they  glance  aside  at  the  white-walled  homes. 
Or  up  the  valley,  where  merrily  comes 
The  brook  that  sparkles  in  diamond  rills 
As  the  sun  comes  over  the  Hampshire  hills. 

WTiat  was  it  that  passed  like  an  ominous  breath 
Like  a shiver  of  fear,  or  a touch  of  death  ? 

What  was  it  ? The  valley  is  peaceful  still. 

And  the  leaves  are  afire  on  top  of  the  hill. 

It  was  not  a sound  — nor  a thing  of  sense  — 

But  a pain,  like  the  pang  of  the  shoH  suspense 
That  thrills  the  being  of  those  who  see 
At  their  feet  the  gulf  of  Eternity  ! 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


39 


The  air  of  the  valley  has  felt  the  chill : 

The  workers  pause  at  the  door  of  the  mill  ; 

The  housewife,  keen  to  the  shivering  air, 

Arrests  her  foot  on  the  cottage  stair. 

Instinctive  taught  by  the  mother  love. 

And  thinks  of  the  sleeping  ones  above. 

Why  start  the  listeners  ? Why  does  the  course 
Of  the  mill  stream  widen  ? Is  it  a horse  — 

Hark  to  the  sound  of  his  hoofs,  they  say  — 

That  gallops  so  wildly  Williamsburg  way  ! 

God  ! what  was  that,  like  a human  shriek 
From  the  winding  valley  ? Will  nobody  speak  ? 

Will  nobody  answer  those  women  who  cry 
As  the  awful  warnings  thunder  by  ? 

Whence  come  they  ? Listen  ! And  now  they  hear 
The  sound  of  the  galloping  horse  hoofs  near ; 

They  watch  the  trend  of  the  \'ale,  and  see 
The  rider  who  thunders  so  menacingly. 

With  waving  arms  and  warning  scream 
To  the  home-filled  banks  of  the  valley  stream. 

He  draws  no  rein,  but  he  shakes  the  street 
With  a shout  and  the  ring  of  the  galloping  feet ; 

And  this  the  cry  he  flings  to  the  wind  : 

“To  the  hills  for  your  lives!  The  flood  is  behind  !’' 
He  cries  and  is  gone ; but  they  know  the  worst  — 

The  breast  of  the  Williamsburg  dam  has  burst ! 


40 


SEVENTH  YEA.R 


The  basin  that  nourished  their  happy  homes 
Is  changed  to  a demon  — It  comes  ! it  comes  ! 

A monster  in  aspect,  with  shaggy  front 

Of  shattered  dwellings,  to  take  the  brunt 

Of  the  bones  they  shatter  — white-maned  and  hoarse. 

The  merciless  Terror  fills  the  course 

Of  the  narrow  valley,  and  rushing  raves. 

With  Death  on  the  first  of  its  hissing  waves. 

Till  cottage  and  street  and  crowded  mill 
Are  crumbled  and  crushed. 


But  onward  still, 

In  front  of  the  roaring  flood  is  heard 
The  galloping  horse  and  the  warning  word. 
Thank  God  ! the  brave  man’s  life  is  spared  ! 
From  Williamsburg  town  he  nobly  dared 
To  race  with  the  flood  and  take  the  road 
In  front  of  the  terrible  swath  it  mowed. 

For  miles  it  thundered  and  crashed  behind. 

But  he  looked  ahead  with  a steadfast  mind ; 
“They  must  be  warned  !”  was  all  he  said, 

As  away  on  his  terrible  ride  he  sped. 

When  heroes  are  called  for,  bring  the  crown 
To  this  Yankee  rider ; send  him  down 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


41 


On  the  stream  of  time  with  the  Curtins  old ; 

His  deed  as  the  Roman’s  was  brave  and  bold, 

And  the  tale  can  as  noble  a thrill  awake, 

For  he  offered  his  life  for  the  people’s  sake. 

— John  Boyle  O’Reilly. 


THE  THOUGHT  OF  HEAVEN 

The  end  of  man  is  the  clear  vision  and  enjoyment 
of  God,  which  he  hopes  to  obtain  in  heaven.  Blessed, 
then,  is  he  who  employs  this  short,  mortal  life  to  acquire 
an  eternal  good,  referring  the  transitory  days  here 
below  to  the  day  of  immortality,  and  applying  all  the 
perishable  moments  which  remain  to  him  to  gain  a holy 
eternity.  The  true  light  of  heaven  will  not  fail  to  show 
him  the  secure  course,  and  to  conduct  him  happily 
into  the  harbor  of  everlasting  felicity. 

The  rivers  flow  incessantly,  and,  as  the  Wise  Man 
says,  return  to  the  sea,  which  is  the  place  of  their  birth, 
and  is  also  their  last  resting  place ; all  their  motion 
tends  only  to  unite  them  with  their  original  source. 

“0  God,”  cries  St.  Augustine,  “Thou  hast  created 
us  for  Thyself,  and  our  hearts  are  unrestful  till  they  find 
repose  in  Thee  !”  “What  have  I in  heaven,  and  what 
do  I desire  on  earth,  but  Thee,  my  God  ? Thou  art  the 
God  of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  forever.” 


42 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Behold  in  detail  a few  points  which  we  must  believe 
on  this  subject : Firstly,  there  is  a paradise,  a place  of 
eternal  glory,  a most  perfect  state,  in  which  all  the  good 
are  assembled,  and  where  there  is  no  evil ; a world  of 
wonders,  full  of  felicity,  incomparable  in  happiness,  in- 
finitely surpassing  every  expectation ; the  house  of 
God  and  the  palace  of  the  blessed ; a most  lovely  and 
desirable  city ; and  so  precious  that  all  the  beauties  of 
the  world  put  together  are  nothing  in  comparison  with 
its  excellence ; so  that  no  one  can  conceive  the  infinite 
greatness  of  the  abysses  of  its  delights. 

Secondly,  the  soul,  purified  from  all  sin,  entering 
heaven,  will  that  instant  behold  God  Himself,  unveiled, 
face  to  face,  as  He  is ; contemplating,  by  a view  of  true 
and  real  presence,  the  proper  divine  essence.  Then 
will  the  soul  be  deified,  filled  with  God,  and  made  like  to 
God,  by  an  eternal  and  immutable  participation  of  God, 
uniting  Himself  to  it  as  fire  does  to  the  iron  which  it 
penetrates,  communicating  its  light,  brilliancy,  heat, 
and  other  c|ualities,  in  such  a manner  that  both  seem 
one  and  the  same  fire. 

Thirdly,  the  soul  will  be  happy  forever  amid  the  no- 
bility and  variety  of  the  citizens  and  inhabitants  of  that 
blessed  country,  with  its  myriads  of  angels,  of  cherubim, 
of  seraphim,  its  troop  of  apostles,  of  martyrs,  of  con- 
fessors, of  virgins,  of  holy  women,  whose  number  is 
without  number.  Oh,  how  happy  is  this  company  ! 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


43 


The  least  of  the  blessed  is  more  beautiful  to  behold  than 
the  whole  world.  What  will  it  be  to  see  them  all  ? 

Fourthly,  in  paradise  God  will  give  Himself  all  to 
all,  and  not  in  parts ; since  He  is  a whole  which  has  no 
parts ; but  still  He  will  give  Himself  variously,  and  with 
as  many  differences  as  there  will  be  blessed  guests.  As 
star  differs  from  star  in  brightness,  so  men  will  be  differ- 
ent one  from  the  other  in  gloiy,  in  proportion  as  they 
have  been  different  in  graces  and  merits ; and  as  there 
are  probably  no  two  men  equal  in  charity  in  this  world, 
so  there  will  probably  be  no  two  equal  in  glory  in  the 
next. 

Consider  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  see  that  city 
where  the  great  King  sits  on  the  throne  of  His  majesty, 
surrounded  by  all  His  blessed  servants ; there  are  found 
the  choirs  of  angels  and  the  company  of  celestial  men ; 
there  are  found  the  venerable  troop  of  the  prophets, 
the  chosen  number  of  the  apostles,  the  victorious  army 
of  innumerable  martyrs,  the  august  rank  of  pontiffs, 
the  sacred  flock  of  confessors,  the  true  and  perfect 
religious,  the  hol}^  women,  the  humble  widows,  the  pure 
virgins.  The  glory  of  every  one  is  not  equal,  but, 
nevertheless,  they  all  taste  one  and  the  same  pleasure, 
for  there  is  the  reign  of  full  and  perfect  charity. 

Fifthly,  notwithstanding  the  variety  and  diversity  of 
glory,  yet  each  blessed  soul,  contemplating  the  infinite 
beauty  of  God,  and  the  abyss  of  infinity  that  remains 


44 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


to  be  seen  in  this  beauty,  feels  perfectly  satisfied,  and  is 
content  with  the  glory  it  enjoys,  according  to  the  rank 
it  holds  in  heaven,  on  account  of  the  most  amiable 
Divine  Providence  which  has  so  perfectly  arranged 
every  thing. 

What  a joy  to  be  environed  on  all  sides  with  incredi- 
ble pleasures,  and,  as  a most  happy  bird,  to  fiy  and  sing 
forever  in  the  air  of  the  Divinity  ! What  a favor,  after 
a million  of  languors,  pains,  and  fatigues,  endured  in 
this  mortal  life ; after  endless  desires  for  the  Eternal 
Truth,  never  fully  satisfied  in  this  world,  to  see  one’s 
self  in  the  haven  of  all  tranquillity,  and  to  have  at 
length  reached  the  living  and  mighty  source  of  the 
fresh  waters  of  undying  life,  which  alone  can  extin- 
guish the  passions  and  satiate  the  human  heart. 

— St.  Francis  de  Sales. 


THANATOPSIS 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A various  language  ; for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a voice  of  gladness,  and  a smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a mild 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


45 


And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.  When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour-  come  like  a blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall. 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house. 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart. 

Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature’s  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a still  voice  : 

Yet  a few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ; nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground. 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears. 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.  Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements. 

To  be  a brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.  The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold. 


46 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting  place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.  Thou  shalt  lie  dowm 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world  — with  kings, 

The  powerful  of  the  earth  — the  wise,  the  good. 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past. 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulcher.  The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun  — the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  — 

The  venerable  w^oods  — rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green ; and,  poured  round  all. 
Old  Ocean’s  gray  and  melancholy  waste  — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.  The  golden  sun. 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven. 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death. 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.  All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness. 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings,  — yet  the  dead  are  there ; 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep,  — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


47 


So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ? All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.  The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom  ; yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.  As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glides  away,  the  sons  of  men. 

The  youth  in  life’s  fresh  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid. 

The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man. 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 

Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night. 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  put,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  draper}^  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

— William  Cullen  Bryant. 


48 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  BLIND  MARTYR 

As  Corvinus  had  prepared  his  father  for  what  he 
was  to  expect,  Tertullus,  moved  with  some  compassion, 
and  imagining  there  could  be  little  difficulty  in  over- 
coming the  obstinacy  of  a poor,  ignorant,  blind  beggar, 
requested  the  spectators  to  remain  perfectly  still,  that 
he  might  trj"  persuasion  on  her,  alone,  as  she  would 
imagine,  with  him ; and  he  threatened  heavy  penalties 
on  any  one  who  should  presume  to  break  the  silence. 

“What  is  thy  name,  child?” 

“CjBcelia.” 

“ It  is  a noble  name ; hast  thou  it  from  thy  family  ? ” 

“No;  I am  not  noble;  except  because  my  parents, 
though  poor,  died  for  Christ.” 

“ But,  now,  give  up  all  this  folly  of  the  Christians,  who 
have  kept  thee  only  poor  and  blind.  Honor  the  de- 
crees of  the  divine  emperors,  and  offer  sacrifice  to  the 
gods ; and  thou  shalt  have  riches,  and  fine  clothes,  and 
good  fare ; and  the  l)est  physicians  shall  try  to  restore 
thy  sight.” 

“You  must  have  better  motives  to  propose  to  me 
than  these ; for  the  very  things  for  which  I most  thank 
God  and  His  Divine  Son  are  those  which  you  would 
have  me  put  away.” 

“How  dost  thou  mean ?” 

“ I thank  God  that  I am  poor  and  meanly  clad,  and 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


49 


fare  not  daintily;  because  by  all  these  things  I am 
the  more  like  Jesus  Christ,  my  only  Spouse.” 

“Foolish  girl !”  interrupted  the  judge,  losing  pa- 
tience a little,  “hast  thou  learned  all  these  silly  delu- 
sions already  ? At  least  thou  canst  not  thank  thy  God 
that  He  made  thee  sightless?” 

“For  that,  more  than  all  the  rest,  I thank  Him  daily 
and  hourly  with  all  my  heart.” 

“How  so?  Dost  thou  think  it  a blessing  never  to 
have  seen  the  face  of  a human  being,  or  the  sun,  or  the 
earth  ? Wdiat  strange  fancies  are  these  ?” 

“They  are  not  so,  most  noble  sir.  For  in  the  midst 
of  what  you  call  darkness,  I see  a spot  of  what  I must 
call  light,  it  contrasts  so  strongly  with  all  around. 
It  is  to  me  what  the  sun  is  to  you,  which  I know  to  be 
local  from  the  varying  direction  of  its  rays.  And  this 
object  looks  upon  me  with  a countenance  of  intensest 
beauty,  and  smiles  upon  me  as  ever.  And  I know 
it  to  be  that  of  Him  whom  I love  with  undivided 
affection.  I would  not  for  the  world  have  its  splendor 
dimmed  by  a brighter  sun,  nor  its  wondrous  loveli- 
ness confounded  with  the  diversities  of  other  features, 
nor  my  gaze  on  it  drawn  aside  by  earthly  visions. 
I love  Him  too  much  not  to  wish  to  see  Him  always 
alone.” 

“Come,  come;  let  me  hear  no  more  of  this  silly 
prattle.  Obey  the  emperor  at  once,  or  I must  try 

CATHOLIC  READERS.  7tH  YR. 4 


50 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


what  a little  pain  will  do.  That  will  soon  tame 
thee.” 

“Pain  !”  she  echoed  innocently. 

“Yes,  pain.  Hast  thou  never  felt  it?  Hast  thou 
never  been  hurt  by  any  one  in  thy  life  ?” 

“Oh,  no  ; Christians  never  hurt  one  another.” 

The  rack  was  standing  as  usual  before  him,  and  he 
made  a sign  to  Catulus  to  place  her  upon  it.  The 
executioner  pushed  her  back  on  it  by  her  arms;  and 
as  she  made  no  resistance,  she  was  easily  laid  extended 
on  its  wooden  couch.  The  loops  of  the  ever-ready 
ropes  were  in  a moment  passed  round  her  ankles,  and 
her  arms  drawn  over  the  head.  The  poor  sightless 
girl  saw  not  who  did  this ; she  knew  not  but  it  might 
be  the  same  person  who  had  been  conversing  with  her. 

If  there  had  been  silence  hitherto,  men  now  held  their 
very  breath  while  Csecelia’s  lips  moved  in  earnest 
prayer. 

“Once  more,  before  proceeding  further,  I call  on 
thee  to  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  and  escape  cruel  torments,” 
said  the  judge,  with  a sterner  voice. 

“Neither  torments  nor  death,”  firmly  replied  the 
victim,  tied  to  the  altar,  “shall  separate  me  from  the 
love  of  Christ.  I can  offer  up  no  sacrifice  but  to  the 
one  living  God,  and  its  ready  oblation  is  myself.” 

The  prefect  made  a sign  to  the  executioner,  and  he 
gave  one  rapid  whirl  to  the  two  wheels  of  the  rack. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


51 


round  the  windlasses  of  which  the  ropes  were  wound ; 
and  the  limbs  of  the  maiden  were  stretched  with  a 
sudden  jerk,  which,  though  not  enough  to  wrench 
them  from  their  sockets,  as  a further  turn  would  have 
done,  sufficed  to  inflict  an  excruciating,  or  more  truly, 
a racking,  pain,  through  all  her  frame.  Far  more 
grievous  was  this  from  the  preparation  and  the  cause 
of  it  being  unseen,  and  from  that  additional  suffering 
which  darkness  inflicts.  A quivering  of  her  features  and 
a sudden  paleness  alone  gave  evidence  of  her  suffering. 

“Ha!  ha!”  the  judge  exclaimed,  “thou  feelest 
that ! Come,  let  it  suffice ; obey,  and  thou  shalt  be 
freed.” 

She  seemed  to  take  no  heed  of  his  w’ords,  but  gave 
vent  to  her  feelings  in  prayer ; “I  thank  Thee,  0 Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  that  Thou  hast  made  me  suffer  pain 
the  first  time  for  Thy  sake.  I have  loved  Thee  in 
peace ; I have  loved  Thee  in  joy ; and  now  in  pain 
I love  Thee  still  more  !” 

“Thou  triflest  with  me!”  exclaimed  the  judge, 
thoroughly  vexed,  “and  makest  light  of  my  lenity. 
We  will  try  something  stronger.  Here,  Catulus,  ap- 
ply a lighted  torch  to  her  sides.” 

A thrill  of  disgust  and  horror  ran  through  the 
assembly,  which  could  not  help  sympathizing  with  the 
poor  blind  creature.  A murmur  of  suppressed  indigna- 
tion broke  out  from  all  sides  of  the  hall. 


52 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


Csecelia,  for  the  first  time,  learned  that  she  was  in 
the  midst  of  a crowd.  A crimson  glow  of  modesty 
rushed  into  her  brow,  her  face,  and  neck,  just  before  as 
white  as  marble. 

The  angry  judge  checked  the  rising  gush  of  feeling ; 
and  all  listened  in  silence,  as  she  spoke  again,  with 
warmer  earnestness  than  before  : 

“0  my  dear  Lord  and  Spouse!  I have  ever  been 
true  to  Thee  ! Let  me  suffer  pain  and  torture  for 
Thee ; but  spare  me  confusion  from  human  eyes. 
Let  me  come  to  Thee  at  once ; not  covering  my  face 
with  my  hands  in  shame,  when  I stand  before  Thee.” 
Another  muttering  of  compassion  was  heard. 
“Catulus  !”  shouted  the  baffled  judge,  in  fury,  “do 
your  duty,  sir  ! What  are  you  about,  fumbling  all  day 
with  that  torch  ?” 

“ It  is  too  late.  She  is  dead.” 

“Dead  !”  cried  out  Tertullus;  “dead,  with  one  turn 
of  the  wheel  ? Impossible  !” 

Catulus  gave  the  rack  a turn  backwards,  and  the 
body  remained  motionless.  It  was  true ; she  had 
passed  from  the  rack  to  the  throne,  from  the  scowl 
of  the  judge’s  countenance  to  her  Spouse’s  welcoming 
embrace.  Had  she  breathed  out  her  pure  soul,  as  a 
sweet  perfume,  in  the  incense  of  her  prayer  ? or  had 
her  heart  been  unable  to  get  back  its  blood  from  the 
intensity  of  that  first  virginal  blush  ? 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


53 


In  the  stillness  of  awe  and  wonder,  a clear,  bold 
voice  cried  out,  from  the  group  near  the  door,  “Im- 
pious t}^rant,  dost  thou  not  see  that  a poor  blind  Chris- 
tian hath  more  power  over  life  and  death  than  thou 
or  thy  cruel  masters  ?” 

“What ! a third  time  in  twenty-four  hours  wilt 
thou  dare  to  cross  my  path  ? This  time  thou  shalt 
not  escape.” 

These  were  the  words  of  Corvinus,  garnished  with  a 
furious  imprecation,  as  he  rushed  from  his  father’s 
side,  round  the  inclosure  before  the  tribunal,  towards 
the  group.  But  as  he  ran  blindly  on  he  struck  against 
an  officer  of  herculean  build,  who,  no  doubt  quite  ac- 
cidentally, was  advancing  from  it.  He  reeled,  and  the 
soldier  caught  hold  of  him,  saying : 

“You  are  not  hurt,  I hope,  Corvinus?” 

“No,  no ; let  me  go,  Quadratus,  let  me  go.” 

“Where  are  you  running  to  in  such  a hurry?  Can 
I help  you  ?”  asked  his  captor,  still  holding  him  fast. 

“Let  me  loose,  I say,  or  he  will  be  gone.” 

“Who  will  be  gone?” 

“Pancratius,”  answered  Corvinus;  “who  just  now 
insulted  my  father.” 

“Pancratius,”  said  Quadratus,  loolcing  round,  and 
seeing  that  he  had  got  clear  off;  “I  do  not  see  him.” 
And  he  let  him  go  ; but  it  was  too  late.  ITe  youth  was 
safe. 


54 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


While  this  scene  was  going  on,  the  prefect,  mortified, 
ordered  Catulus  to  see  the  body  thrown  into  the  Tiber. 

But  another  officer,  muffled  in  his  cloak,  stepped 
aside  and  beckoned  to  Catulus,  who  understood  the 
sign,  and  stretched  out  his  hand  to  receive  a proffered 
purse. 

“Out  of  the  Porta  Capena,  at  Lucina’s  villa,  an  hour 
after  sunset,”  said  Sebastian. 

“It  shall  be  delivered  there,  safe,”  said  the  execu- 
tioner. 

“Of  what,  do  you  think,  did  that  poor  girl  die?” 
asked  a spectator  from  his  companion,  as  they  went 
out. 

“Of  fright,  I fancy,”  he  replied. 

“Of  Christian  modesty,”  interposed  a stranger,  who 
passed  them. 

— Cardinal  Wiseman. 


Around  our  pillows  golden  ladders  rise. 

And  up  and  down  the  skies, 

With  winged  sandals  shod. 

The  Angels  come  and  go,  the  messengers  of  God  ! 
Nor,  though  they  fade  from  us,  do  they  depart  — • 

It  is  the  childish  heart : 

We  walk  as  heretofore, 

Adown  their  shining  ranks,  but  see  them  nevermore. 

— R.  H.  Stoddard. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


55 


BELLS  OF  THE  NEW  YEAR 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky. 

The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light ; 

The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new. 

Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow ; 

The  year  is  going,  let  him  go  ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind. 

For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more; 

Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor. 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood. 

The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 

Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right. 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease ; 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold ; 

Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old. 

Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

— Alb’red  Tennyson. 


56 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


POLONIUS’S  ADVICE  TO  HIS  SON,  LAERTES 

There ; my  blessing  with  thee ! 
And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 
See  thou  character.  Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportion’d  thought  his  act. 

Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 

Those  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel ; 

But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch’d,  unfledg’d  comrade.  Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a quarrel,  but,  being  in. 

Bear ’t  that  the  opposed  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thy  ear,  but  few  thy  voice ; 

Take  each  man’s  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy. 

But  not  express’d  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy; 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man, 

And  they  in  France  of  the  best  rank  and  station 
Are  most  select  and  generous,  chief  in  that. 
Neither  a borrower  nor  a lender  be ; 

For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend. 

And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This  above  all  • to  thine  own  self  be  true. 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

— Shakespeare. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


57 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  MISERIES 

It  is  a celebrated  thought  of  Socrates,  that,  if  all  the 
misfortunes  of  mankind  were  cast  into  a public  stock, 
in  order  to  be  equally  distributed  among  the  whole 
species,  those  who  now  think  themselves  the  most  un- 
happy would  prefer  the  share  they  are  already  pos- 
sessed of,  before  that  which  would  fall  to  them  by  such 
a division.  Horace  has  carried  this  thought  a great 
deal  further,  which  implies,  that  the  hardships  or  mis- 
fortunes we  lie  under  are  more  easy  to  us  than  those 
of  any  other  person  would  be,  in  case  we  could  exchange 
conditions  with  him. 

As  I was  musing  upon  these  two  remarks,  and  seated 
in  my  elbow  chair,  I insensibly  fell  asleep ; when,  on  a 
sudden,  methought  there  was  a proclamation  made  by 
Jupiter,  that  every  mortal  should  bring  in  his  griefs 
and  calamities,  and  throw  them  together  in  a heap. 

There  was  a large  plain  appointed  for  this  purpose. 
I took  my  stand  in  the  center  of  it,  and  saw,  with  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure,  the  whole  human  species  march- 
ing one  after  another,  and  throwing  down  their  several 
loads,  which  immediately  grew  up  into  a prodigious 
mountain,  that  seemed  to  rise  above  the  clouds. 

There  was  a certain  lady,  of  thin,  airy  shape,  who 
was  very  active  in  this  solemnity.  She  carried  a mag- 
nifying glass  in  one  of  her  hands,  and  was  clothed  in  a 


58 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


loose,  flowing  robe,  embroidered  with  • several  figures 
of  fiends  and  specters,  that  discovered  themselves  in  a 
thousand  chimerical  shapes  as  her  garments  hovered 
in  the  wind.  There  was  something  wild  and  dis- 
tracted in  her  looks.  Her  name  was  Fancy.  She  led 
up  every  mortal  to  the  appointed  place,  after  having 
very  officiously  assisted  him  in  making  up  his  pack 
and  laying  it  upon  his  shoulders.  My  heart  melted 
within  me  to  see  my  fellow-creatures  groaning  under 
their  respective  burdens,  and  to  consider  that  pro- 
digious bulk  of  human  calamities  which  lay  before  me. 

There  were,  however,  several  persons  who  gave  me 
great  diversion  upon  this  occasion.  I observed  one 
bringing  in  a parcel  very  carefully  concealed  under  an 
old  embroidered  cloak,  which,  upon  his  throwing  it 
into  the  heap,  I discovered  to  be  poverty.  Another, 
after  a great  deal  of  puffing,  threw  down  his  luggage, 
which,  upon  examining,  I found  to  be  his  wife. 

There  were  multitudes  of  persons,  saddled  with  very 
whimsical  burdens,  composed  of  darts  and  flames; 
but,  what  was  very  odd,  though  they  sighed  as  if 
their  hearts  would  break  under  these  bundles  of 
calamities,  they  could  not  persuade  themselves  to 
cast  them  into  the  heap  when  they  came  up  to  it,  but, 
after  a few  faint  efforts,  shook  their  heads,  and  marched 
away  as  heavy  laden  as  they  came. 

I was  surprised  to  see  the  greatest  part  of  the 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


59 


mountain  made  up  of  bodily  deformities.  Observing 
one  advancing  toward  the  heap  with  a larger  cargo 
than  ordinary  upon  his  back,  I found,  upon  his  near 
approach,  that  it  was  only  a natural  hump,  which 
he  disposed  of,  with  great  joy  of  heart,  among  this 
collection  of  human  miseries.  There  were  likewise 
diseases  of  all  sorts,  though  I could  not  but  observe 
that  there  were  many  more  imaginary  than  real. 

One  little  packet  I could  not  but  take  notice  of,  which 
was  a complication  of  all  the  diseases  incident  to 
human  nature,  and  was  in  the  hand  of  a great  many 
fine  people;  this  was  called  the  spleen.  But  what 
surprised  me  most  was  the  fact  that  there  was  not  a 
single  vice  or  folly  thrown  into  the  whole  heap;  for 
I had  concluded  within  myself  that  every  one  would 
take  this  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  his  passions, 
prejudices,  and  frailties. 

I took  notice,  in  particular,  of  a very  wicked  fel- 
low, who,  I did  not  question,  came  loaded  with  his 
crimes;  but,  upon  searching  into  his  bundle,  I found 
that,  instead  of  throwing  his  guilt  from  him,  he  had 
only  laid  down  his  memory.  He  was  followed  by 
another  worthless  rogue,  who  flung  away  his  modesty 
instead  of  his  ignorance. 

When  the  whole  race  of  mankind  had  thus  cast  their 
burdens,  the  phantom  which  had  been  so  busy  on  this 
occasion,  seeing  me  an  idle  spectator  of  what  passed. 


60 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


approached  toward  me.  I grew  uneasy  at  her  pres- 
ence, when  of  a sudden  she  held  her  magnifying  glass 
full  before  my  eyes.  I no  sooner  saw  my  face  in  it, 
than  I was  startled  at  the  shortness  of  it,  which  now 
appeared  to  me  in  its  utmost  aggravation. 

The  immoderate  breadth  of  the  features  made  me 
very  much  out  of  humor  with  my  own  countenance; 
upon  which  I threw  it  from  me  like  a mask.  It  hap- 
pened, very  luckily,  that  one  who  stood  by  me  had 
just  before  thrown  down  his  visage,  which,  it  seems, 
was  too  long  for  him.  It  was,  indeed,  extended  to  a 
most  shameful  length;  I believe  the  very  chin  was, 
modestly  speaking,  as  long  as  my  whole  face. 

We  had  both  of  us  an  opportunity  of  mending  our- 
selves; and  all  the  contributions  being  now  brought 
in,  every  man  was  at  liberty  to  exchange  his  misfor- 
tunes for  those  of  another  person.  I saw  with  unspeak- 
able pleasure  the  whole  species  thus  delivered  from 
its  sorrows;  though,  at  the  same  time,  as  we  stood 
round  the  heap,  and  surveyed  the  several  materials 
of  which  it  was  composed,  there  was  scarcely  a mortal 
in  this  vast  multitude  who  did  not  discover  what  he 
thought  pleasures  and  blessings  of  life,  and  wondered 
how  the  owners  of  them  ever  came  to  look  upon  them 
as  burdens  and  grievances. 

As  we  were  regarding  very  attentively  this  confusion 
of  miseries,  this  chaos  of  calamity,  Jupiter  issued  out 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


61 


a second  proclamation,  that  every  one  was  now  at 
liberty  to  exchange  his  affliction,  and  to  return  to  his 
habitation  with  any  such  bundles  as  should  be  allotted 
to  him.  Upon  this.  Fancy  began  again  to  bestir 
herself,  and  parceling  out  the  whole  heap  with  in- 
credible activity,  recommended  to  every  one  his  par- 
ticular packet 

The  hurry  and  confusion  at  this  time  was  not  to  be 
expressed.  Some  observations  which  I made  u|)on 
the  occasion  I shall  communicate  to  the  public.  A 
poor  galley  slave,  who  had  thrown  down  his  chains,  took 
up  the  gout  instead,  but  made  such  wry  faces  that  one 
might  easily  perceive  he  was  no  great  gainer  by  the 
bargain.  It  was  pleasant  enough  to  see  several  ex- 
changes that  were  made,  for  example,  sickness  against 
poverty,  hunger  against  want  of  appetite,  and  ease 
against  pain. 

I must  not  omit  my  own  particular  adventure.  My 
friend  with  a long  visage  had  no  sooner  taken  upon  him 
my  short  face,  but  he  made  such  a grotesque  figure  in 
it,  that,  as  I looked  upon  him,  I could  not  forbear 
laughing  at  myself,  insomuch  that  I put  my  own  face 
out  of  countenance.  The  poor  gentleman  was  so  sen- 
sible of  the  ridicule,  that  I found  he  was  ashamed  of 
what  he  had  done:  on  the  other  side,  I found  that  I 
myself  had  no  great  reason  to  triumph,  for  as  I bent 
to  touch  my  forehead,  1 missed  the  |)lace  and  clapped 


62 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


my  finger  upon  my  upper  lip!  Besides,  as  my  nose 
was  exceedingly  prominent,  I gave  it  two  or  three 
unlucky  knocks. 

The  heap  was  at  last  distributed.  It  was  a most 
piteous  sight  to  see  the  men  and  women  as  they  wan- 
dered up  and  down  under  the  pressure  of  their  several 
burdens.  The  whole  plain  was  filled  with  murmurs 
and  complaints,  groans,  and  lamentations.  Jupiter,  at 
length,  taking  compassion  on  the  poor  mortals,  ordered 
them  a second  time  to  lay  down  their  loads,  with  a 
design  to  give  every  one  his  own  again.  They  dis- 
charged themselves  with  a great  deal  of  pleasure,  after 
which  the  phantom  who  had  led  them  into  such  gross 
delusions  was  commanded  to  disappear. 

There  was  sent  in  her  stead  a goddess  of  a quite 
different  figure;  her  motions  were  steady  and  com- 
posed, and  her  aspect  serious  but  cheerful.  Her  name 
was  Patience.  She  had  no  sooner  placed  herself  by 
the  mount  of  sorrows,  but,  what  I thought  very  re- 
markable, the  whole  heap  sunk  to  such  a degree  that 
it  did  not  appear  a third  part  as  big  as  it  was  before. 
She  afterwards  returned  every  man  his  own  proper 
calamity,  and,  teaching  him  how  to  bear  it  in  the 
most  commodious  manner,  he  marched  off  with  it 
contentedly,  being  very  well  pleased  that  he  had  not 
been  left  to  his  own  choice  as  to  the  kind  of  evils 
which  fell  to  his  lot. 


— Joseph  Addison. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


63 


A LITTLE  HEROINE 

Blentarn  Ghyll  is  the  name  of  a little  narrow 
gorge  in  the  Westmoreland  mountains.  At  the  foot 
of  these  mountains  lie  the  lovely  green  vale  and  lake 
of  Grasmere.  The  lake  is  fed  by  mountain  stream- 
lets, called,  in  the  north,  becks. 

One  of  these  becks  comes  down  another  beautiful 
valley  called  Easedale,  sheltered  by  mountains  and 
green  with  grass,  as  smooth  and  soft  as  on  a lawn. 
At  one  end,  Easedale  opens  on  the  village  of  Gras- 
mere, at  the  other  is  a steep  ascent,  leading  to  a 
bare,  stony  ravine,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  high  moun- 
tains. 

At  the  upper  end  of  this  lonely  ravine  there  formerly 
stood  a cottage  named  Blentarn  Ghyll.  Ghyll  means 
a cleft  worn  in  the  rock  by  water ; and  just  above  the 
cottage  there  is  such  a cleft,  opening  from  a basin  in 
the  rock  that  must  once  have  been  a tarn,  or  mountain 
lakelet.  But  the  pool  is  now  drj^,  and  for  want  of  the 
living  eye  of  sparkling  water,  it  is  termed  Blentarn 
or  Blind  Pool. 

The  cottage  was  the  dwelling  of  an  honest  old  soldier 
named  George  Green,  who  had  taken  the  little  moun- 
tain farm,  and  married  an  active,  bustling  woman. 
She  kept  her  home  in  great  order,  and  regularly  sent 
her  children,  tidily  dressed,  to  school  at  Grasmere 


64 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


whenever  the  weather  did  not  make  the  long  wild  moun- 
tain walk  impassable  for  them. 

It  was  in  the  winter  of  the  year  1807  that  there  was 
an  auction  of  furniture  at  a farmhouse  at  Langdale 
Head.  These  sales  are  great  occasions  among  the 
people  of  these  hills.  Every  one  attends  them  for  a 
considerable  distance  round,  and  there  is  much  friendly 
hospitality.  Much  business  of  all  sorts  is  transacted 
at  them,  and  there  are  many  meetings  of  old  friends. 

To  this  gathering  George  and  Sarah  Green  set  off 
in  the  early  forenoon  of  a bright  winter  da)^,  leaving 
their  cottage  and  six  littles  ones  in  the  charge  of  the 
eldest  sister,  a girl  of  nine  years  named  Agnes.  They 
had  no  servant,  and  there  was  no  neighbor  nearer  than 
Grasmere. 

Little  Agnes  was,  however,  a remarkably  steady  and 
careful  child,  and  all  went  well  through  the  day. 
But  towards  night  the  mist  settled  down  heavily  upon 
the  hills,  and  the  heavy  sighing  in  the  air  told  that  a 
storm  was  working  up.  The  children  watched  anx- 
iously for  their  parents,  but  the  fog  cut  off  their  view, 
flakes  of  snow  began  to  fall,  and  darkness  closed  in 
early  on  them. 

Agnes  gave  the  others  their  supper  of  milk  and  oat- 
meal porridge,  and  they  sat  down,  waiting  and  watch- 
ing, and  fancying  they  heard  sounds  in  the  hills.  The 
clock  struck  one  hour  after  another,  and  no  step  was 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


65 


on  the  threshold,  no  hand  at  the  latch,  no  voice  at  the 
door,  only  the  white  silent  flakes  fell  thicker  and  thicker. 
The  snow  began  to  close  up  the  door,  and  came  in  white 
clinging  wreaths  through  the  crevices  of  the  window's. 

Agnes  tried  to  cheer  up  the  other  children,  but 
there  was  a dread  on  them  all,  and  they  could  not 
bear  to  move  away  from  the  Are  on  the  hearth,  round 
which  they  were  nestled.  She  put  the  tw'o  youngest, 
who  were  twins,  to  bed  in  their  cradle,  and  sat  with  the 
others  till  the  clock  struck  tw'elve.  Then  she  heard 
them,  one  by  one,  say  their  prayers,  and  doing  the 
same  herself,  lay  down  to  rest,  trusting  to  her  Heavenly 
Father’s  care. 

The  morning  came,  and  no  father  and  mother,  — only 
the  snow  falling  thicker  than  ever,  and  almost  block- 
ing them  in ; but  still  Agnes  did  not  lose  hope.  She 
thought  her  father  and  mother  might  have  taken  shelter 
at  night  in  some  sheepfold,  or  that  the  snow  might  have 
prevented  them  from  setting  out  at  all.  She  cheered 
herself  up,  and  dressed  the  others,  and  gave  them  their 
breakfast,  recollecting,  as  she  saw  the  lessening  stores, 
that  her  mother  must  know  how  little  was  provided  for 
them,  and  be  as  anxious  to  get  home  as  they  were  to  see 
her  there. 

She  longed  to  go  down  to  Grasmere  to  inquire ; 
but  the  communication  was  entirely  cut  off  by  the 
snow,  for  the  beck  was,  in  the  winter,  too  wide  for 

CATHOLIC  READERS.  7tH  YR. 5 


66 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


a child  to  leap,  and  too  rapid  to  be  waded.  The 
crazy  wooden  bridge  that  crossed  it  had  so  large  a 
hole  in  it,  that,  when  concealed  with  snow,  it  was 
not  safe  to  attempt  the  passage.  She  could  not  help 
being  terrified  at  her  lonely  and  desolate  condition, 
but  she  set  herself  resolutely  to  comfort  and  help  the 
lesser  creatures  who  depended  on  her. 

She  thought  over  all  that  could  be  done  for  the 
present,  and  first  wound  up  the  clock,  a friend  that 
she  could  not  allow  to  be  silent.  Next,  she  looked  into 
the  meal  chest,  and  made  some  porridge  for  breakfast, 
but  the  store  was  so  low  that  she  was  forced  to  put  all 
except  the  babies  upon  short  allowance.  To  reconcile 
the  others  to  this,  she  made  cakes  of  a small  hoard  of 
flour,  and  baked  them  on  the  hearth. 

It  was  snowing  so  fast  that  she  feared  the  way  to 
the  peat  stack  would  be  blocked  up,  and  therefore  her 
next  work  was,  with  the  help  of  her  two  little  brothers, 
to  pull  down  as  much  fuel  as  would  last  for  a week, 
and  carry  it  indoors.  She  examined  the  potatoes,  but 
fancying  that  if  she  brought  them  in,  the  warmth  of 
the  cottage  would  spoil  them,  she  only  took  enough 
for  a single  meal. 

Milking  the  cow  was  the  next  office  performed  by 
this  orderly  little  maid,  but  the  poor  animal  was  half 
starved  and  had  little  milk  to  give.  Agnes  saw  that 
more  hay  must  be  given  to  her,  and  calling  the  boys. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


67 


scrambled  with  them  into  the  loft,  and  began  to  pull 
down  the  hay.  This  was  severe  work  for  such  young 
children,  and  darkness  came  on,  frightening  the  two 
little  fellows,  so  that  it  required  all  the  sister’s  courage 
to  finish  supplying  the  poor  cow  with  even  that  night’s 
supper  and  bed. 

Supper  time  came,  and  after  it  the  motherly  child 
undressed  the  twins  and  found  voice  to  sing  them  to 
sleep,  after  which  she  joined  the  other  three,  nestled 
on  the  hearth.  Hour  after  hour  they  listened  for  the 
dear  voices,  till  they  fancied  they  heard  sounds  on 
the  howling  blast,  held  their  breath,  and  then  as  it 
died  away,  were  conscious  of  the  deep  silence.  So 
fierce  was  the  snowdrift  that  Agnes  had  to  guard  the 
door  and  window  from  admitting  long  wreaths  of  it, 
and  protect  the  fire  from  being  put  out  as  it  came  hiss- 
ing down  the  chimney. 

Again  her  watch  lasted  till  midnight,  and  no  par- 
ents, no  help  came.  Again  she  went  to  bed,  and  awoke 
to  find  the  snow  falling  thicker  than  ever,  and  hope 
failing  within  her.  Her  fond,  active  mother,  her  strong, 
brave  father,  a noted  climber,  would  surely  long  ago 
have  found  the  way  home  to  their  children  had  all 
been  well  with  them.  Agnes  got  through  this  third 
lonely  day  by  keeping  her  little  flock  together  on  the 
hearth,  and  making  them  say  their  prayers  aloud  by 
turns 


68 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


By  the  following  morning  the  snow  was  over,  and 
the  wind  had  changed,  sweeping  away  the  drifts,  so 
that  a low  stone  wall  had  been  exposed,  which  these 
little  mountaineers  knew  would  serve  as  a guide  into 
Grasmere.  It  would  be  needful  to  push  down  some 
of  the  loose  stones  of  the  walls  that  divided  the  fields, 
and  the  little  boys  went  with  Agnes  to  help  her  in 
this  as  far  as  the  ridge  of  the  hill.  But  the  way  was  long 
and  unsafe  for  small  children,  and  Agnes  sent  them 
back,  while  she  made  her  way  alone,  a frail  little  being 
in  the  vast  slopes  of  snow,  to  the  house  nearest  in  Gras- 
mere. 

She  knocked  at  the  door  and  was  made  kindly 
welcome',  but  no  sooner  did  she  ask  for  her  father  and 
mother  than  smiles  turned  to  looks  of  pity  and  dismay. 
In  half  an  hour  the  news  that  George  and  Sarah  Green 
were  missing  had  spread  through  the  valley,  and  sixty 
strong  men  had  met  to  seek  for  them. 

The  last  that  was  known  of  them  was,  that  after 
the  auction,  some  of  their  friends  had  advised  them 
not  to  tiy  the  dangerous  path  so  late ; but  when  they 
had  gone  no  one  knew. 

Day  after  day  the  search  continued,  but  in  vain. 
The  neighbors  patiently  gave  up  their  work  to  turn 
over  the  deep  snow  around  the  path  from  Langdale, 
but  no  trace  of  them  was  found.  At  last  dogs  were  used 
and  they  guided  the  seekers  far  away  from  the  path. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


69 


until  a loud  shout  from  the  top  of  a steep  precipice 
told  that  the  lost  were  found.  There  lay  Sarah  Green, 
wrapped  in  her  husband’s  greatcoat,  of  course  dead ; 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  his  body  was  found,  in  a 
posture  that  seemed  to  show  that  he  had  been  killed 
by  a fall. 

The  neighbors  thought  that  the  mist  and  snow 
must  have  bewildered  them  till  they  had  wandered  thus 
far  in  the  darkness,  and  that  George  had  taken  a few 
steps  forward  to  make  out  the  road  when  he  fell  from 
the  rock.  His  wife,  no  doubt,  had  been  unconscious 
of  his  fall,  and  stood  still  where  he  had  left  her,  until 
at  last  she  was  benumbed  by  the  sleep  of  cold. 

The  brave  little  girl  keeping  her  patient  watch  and 
guard  over  the  five  younger  ones,  and  setting  out  on 
her  lonely  way  through  the  snow,  must  have  had  much 
of  the  spirit  of  her  soldier  father.  Simple  as  her  conduct 
was,  we  think  it  truly  worthy  to  be  counted  among 
Golden  Deeds. 

— From  A Book  of  Golden  Deeds,  by  Charlotte  Mary  Yonge. 


0 Blessed  Trinity ! 

Thy  children  dare  to  lift  their  hearts  to  Thee, 
And  bless  Thy  triple  Majesty  ! 

Holy  Trinity  ! Blessed  Equal  Three, 

One  God,  we  praise  Thee. 


— Father  Faber. 


70 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


EVANGELINE 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer  the  Basin 
of  Minas, 

Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of 
Grande-Pre, 

Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres ; and  with  him,  directing  his 
household. 

Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride  of 
the  village. 

Stalworth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of  seventy 
winters ; 

Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered  with 
snowflakes ; 

White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks  as 
brown  as  the  oak  leaves. 

Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen 
summers. 

Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on  the 
thorn  by  the  wayside. 

Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the  brown 
shade  of  her  tresses  ! 

Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that  feed  in 
the  meadows. 

When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers  at 
noontide. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


71 


Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah  ! fair  in  sooth  was  the 
maiden. 

Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the  bell 
from  its  turret 

Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest  with 
his  hyssop 

Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings  upon 
them, 

Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chaplet  of 
beads  and  her  missal. 

Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue,  and 
the  earrings. 

Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and  since,  as 
an  heirloom. 

Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long 
generations. 

But  a celestial  brightness  — a more  ethereal  beauty  — 

Shone  on  her  face,  and  encircled  her  form,  when,  after 
confession. 

Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God’s  benediction 
upon  her. 

When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing  of 
exquisite  music. 

Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of  the 
farmer 

Stood  on  the  side  of  a hill  commanding  the  sea ; and  a 
shady 


72 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a woodbine  wreath- 
ing around  it. 

Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath  ; and 
a footpath 

Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in  the 
meadow. 

Under  the  sycamore  tree  were  hives  overhung  by  a 
penthouse. 

Such  as  the  traveler  sees  in  regions  remote  by  the 
roadside, 

Built  o’er  a box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image  of 
Mary. 

Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the  well 
with  its  moss-grown 

Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a trough  for 
the  horses. 

Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north,  were 
the  barns  and  the  farmyard. 

There  stood  the  broad-wheeled  wains  and  the  antique 
plows  and  the  harrows ; 

There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep ; and  there,  in  his 
feathered  seraglio, 

Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock,  with 
the  selfsame 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent 
Peter. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


/ o 


Evangeline 


74 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a village. 
In  each  one 

Far  o’er  the  gable  projected  a roof  of  thatch;  and  a 
staircase, 

Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous  corn- 
loft. 

There  too  the  dovecot  stood,  with  its  meek  and  in- 
nocent inmates 

Murmuring  ever  of  love ; while  above  in  the  variant 
breezes 

Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang  of 
mutation. 

Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the  farmer  of 
Grande-Pre 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  governed  his 
household. 

Many  a youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and  opened 
his  missal. 

Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of  his  deepest 
devotion ; 

Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the  hem 
of  her  garment ! 

Many  a suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness  be- 
friended. 

And  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound  of 
her  footsteps. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


75 


Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the 
knocker  of  iron ; 

Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the  village, 

Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance  as  he 
whispered 

Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a part  of  the 
music. 

But,  among  all  who  came,  young  Gabriel  only  was 
welcome ; 

Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  blacksmith. 

Who  was  a mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  honored  of 
all  men ; 

For  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages  and 
nations. 

Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by  the 
people. 

Basil  was  Benedict’s  friend.  Their  children  from 
earliest  childhood 

Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister,  and  Father 
Felician, 

Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had  taught 
them  their  letters 

Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the 
church  and  the  plain-song. 

But  when  the  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  daily  lesson 
completed. 


76 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil  the 
blacksmith. 

There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  w’ondering  eyes  to 
behold  him 

Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as  a 
plaything, 

Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place;  while  near  him  the  tire 
of  the  cart  wheel 

Lay  like  a fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a circle  of  cinders. 

Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gathering 
darkness 

Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through  every 
• cranny  and  crevice. 

Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched  the  laboring 
bellows. 

And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  expired  in 
the  ashes. 

Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going  into 
the  chapel. 

Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop  of  the 
eagle, 

Down  the  hillside,  bounding,  they  glided  away  o’er 
the  meadow. 

Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests 
on  the  rafters. 

Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous  stone,  which 
the  swallow 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


77 


Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the  sight  of 
its  fledglings. 

Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest  of  the 
swallow  ! 

Thus  passed  a few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer  were 
children. 

He  was  a valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the  face  of 
the  morning. 

Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light  and  ripened  thought 
into  action. 

She  was  a woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes  of  a 
woman. 

“Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie”  was  she  called;  for  that 
was  the  sunshine 

Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their 
orchards  with  apples ; 

She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband’s  house  delight 
and  abundance. 

Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of  children. 

— Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


78 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


PRINKIPO  ‘ 

The  Islands  of  the  Blessed!  Off  in  the  Sea  of 
Marmora,  on  a spring  morning,  the  eye  discovers  a 
little  wreath  of  islands,  floating,  apparently,  cloud-like 
in  mid-air.  These  fairy  islands,  nine  in  number,  are 
frequented  by  the  wealthy  Constantinopolitans,  who 
seek  repose  in  the  lonely  and  lovely  valleys,  where  the 
sun  seems  to  shine  forever;  where  the  harshest  sound 
that  falls  upon  the  ear  is  the  silvery  ring  of  steel  as 
the  husbandman  sharpens  his  scythe  in  the  meadow, 
or  the  chorus  of  fisherboys  singing  over  their  nets  on 
the  shore. 

It  is  but  an  hour  and  a half’s  sail  from  the  Golden 
horn  to  Prinkipo,  the  chief  island  of  the  group;  yet, 
once  beyond  the  contagious  hurry  of  the  city,  you 
find  yourself  sinking  comfortably  into  one  of  the  easy 
chairs  on  deck,  inhaling  the  delicious  sea  air,  and 
absorbing  the  sunshine  with  genuine  physical  delight. 
I do  not  wonder  that  emperors  and  empresses  have 
fled  to  these  sea  islands  for  repose  and  for  security. 
It  seems  as  if  nothing  worldly  ought  to  touch  their 
shores;  and,  indeed,  the  steamer  that  runs  over  and 
back  across  the  sea,  morning  and  evening,  is  the  only 
suggestion  of  an  earnest  and  vigorous  life. 

^ From  “ A Cruise  under  the  Crescent.”  Copyright,  1898.  Published  by 
Rand^  McNally  & Co, 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


79 


We  set  sail  in  the  morning,  and  find  ourselves 
almost  immediately  under  the  enchanting  influence  of 
the  new  atmosphere.  The  ripples  sparkle  in  the  sun; 
a few  sea  birds  wheel  on  lazy  wing  and  bear  us  com- 
pany; now  and  again  a fish  leaps  from  the  water; 
the  white  gulls  scream  and  dart  upon  it;  there  is  a 
splash  in  the  track  of  the  sun  where  the  sea  is  paved 
with  gold,  and  we  rouse  ourselves  from  a reverie  as 
deep  almost  as  the  sea.  Nothing  comes  of  it;  we  fall 
upon  a basket  of  fruit  and  launch  a fleet  of  orange  peel 
caiques  in  our  wake ; we  roll  the  famed  tobacco  of  the 
land  in  wrappers  of  rice  paper,  and  sweeten  the  air 
with  the  aroma  thereof.  No  one  talks  much;  every 
one  seems  to  be  looking  with  contented  eyes  into  the 
future  or  the  past. 

We  swing  up  to  a shallow  shore,  under  green  hills, 
where  a narrow  dock  reaches  far  out  into  the  deep 
water.  This  is  Khalki,  one  of  the  fairest  islands  of 
the  group;  but  we  don’t  land  here  to-day.  We  lean 
over  the  rail,  and  see  the  rope  thrown  lazily  ashore, 
and  as  lazily  caught  and  slipped  over  the  one  post  on 
the  dock.  Somebody  goes  on  shore  very  quietly, 
some  other  body  steps  noiselessly  on  board;  we  are 
cast  off  without  comment,  and  so  drift  on  toward 
Prinkipo. 

We  see  the  three  grassy  hills  of  Khalki,  crowned  with 
the  convents  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  St.  George,  and  the 


80 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Holy  Trinity.  We  learn  that  there  are  students  there 
— Greeks,  many  of  them ; that  there  is  also  an  Otto- 
man naval  college  over  the  hill,  and  that  Khalki  is 
much  resorted  to  by  the  rayahs  — the  non-Mussulman 
subjects  of  the  sultan.  It  seems  to  us  that  nothing 
can  be  finer  than  to  be  a rayah  and  a student,  and  to 
lie  all  day  on  those  green,  green  slopes,  looking  off 
upon  the  sparkling  sea,  and  listening  to  the  study  bell 
growing  ever  fainter  and  fainter  as  we  fall  asleep, 
lapped  in  a meadow  of  sweet  clover. 

Prinkipo  is  the  largest  of  the  Prince’s  Islands.  It 
has  its  village  and  its  hotels,  with  baths  along  the  shore 
just  under  them.  A high  road,  in  capital  repair, 
makes  the  circuit  of  the  island;  a swarm  of  donkey 
boys  light  upon  you  as  you  come  to  land;  and  it  were 
vain  to  waive  them  back  or  seek  to  fly  from  them,  for 
they  will  track  you  to  the  grave  or  get  their  fee. 

The  summer  village  — a colony  of  play  houses  — 
is  so  neat,  so  pretty,  so  untroubled ! Wreaths  of 
flowers  hang  over  the  doors  and  the  windows  of  almost 
every  house.  So  they  welcome  the  return  of  the  spring 
in  Prinkipo.  Stately  Turks  are  borne  up  and  down 
the  village  streets  in  sedan  chairs.  Pipe  bearers  fol- 
low them,  and  from  time  to  time,  as  the  pompous 
effendi  waves  his  hand,  his  box  is  turned  toward  the 
sea  in  a shady  spot;  the  stalwart  carriers  dash  the 
sweat  from  their  foreheads,  and  squat  at  the  feet  of 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


81 


their  master;  the  pipe  boy  uncoils  the  pliant  tube, 
lays  a live  coal  upon  the  bowl  of  the  nargileh  as  it 
sits  in  the  grass,  and  the  next  half-hour  is  given  to 
serene  and  secret  thoughts.  A prince  in  the  Isle  of 
Princes  is  a man  to  put  your  faith  in ; you  will  always 
know  just  where  to  look  for  him,  and  you  may  be  sure 
that  he  takes  no  interest  in  the  affairs  of  other  men, 
and  that  nothing  can  disturb  the  placidity  of  his  life  — 
unless  the  bottom  should  suddenly  drop  out  of  his 
sedan  chair. 

We  hired  a set  of  donkey  boys  to  walk  behind  us  at 
a respectful  distance.  Alone  we  did  it,  — one  after 
the  other,  idling  here  and  there,  getting  astray  in  the 
vineyards,  hiding  among  rose  gardens,  pausing  to 
inhale  the  warm  odors  steeping  in  the  sun,  or  to  catch 
the  refrain  of  some  singer  buried  in  the  wood. 

There  is  a Greek  convent  above  the  road,  hidden 
like  a nest  in  the  deep  hollow.  When  the  Empress 
Irene,  a contemporary  of  Charlemagne  and  Haroun  al 
Raschid,  was  dethroned,  she  was  robbed  of  all  the 
treasures  of  the  crown,  and  then  banished  to  this 
convent,  which  herself  had  built.  Later  she  was  sent 
to  Lemnos,  and  there  died ; but  her  body  was  brought 
hither,  and  is  still  treasured  in  this  convent. 

High  on  a summit  of  a peak  in  Prinkipo  there  is  a 
cloister  and  a kitchen.  Our  path  lay  through  a fragrant 
forest;  we  caught  glimpses  of  broad  blue  seas  and  of 

CATH.  READERS.  7tiI  YR.  6 


82 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


islands  that  swam  below  us  as  we  climbed  toward  the 
summit  of  the  peak.  Here,  in  an  arbor  that  hung 
upon  the  edge  of  space,  a monk  served  us  bread  and 
wine  and  omelet.  He  also  brought  the  consoling 
nargileh,  and  as  we  feasted  and  fattened  we  looked 
down  upon  a picture  that  can  never  fade  from  memory. 

If  ever  island  floated,  these  islands  float.  They  are 
the  haunts  of  flying  islanders,  and  that  is  why  the  air 
is  so  still  and  so  restful  and  so  magical.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  sea  and  sky  lie  down  together,  and  on  the 
other  the  glamour  of  Stamboul  illuminates  the  horizon 
like  a mirage.  In  the  distance  we  discover  the  little 
boat  returning  for  us.  She  sits  like  a bird  upon  the 
water,  with  foam-white  tail  feathers  and  long,  dark 
wings  of  smoke.  Think  of  saying  farewell  to  these 
dream  nooks  of  the  world  — think  of  plunging  again 
into  new  fields,  with  the  consciousness  that  you  have, 
in  all  human  probability,  seen  the  best,  and  that  one 
experience  laid  so  soon  upon  another  is  sure  to  deaden 
the  flavor  of  both ! 

Like  sea-flowers,  the  islands  seem  to  drift  away 
from  us,  and  in  secret  I am  half  convinced  that  yonder, 
between  sea  and  sky,  lies  Avalon;  and  yonder,  within 
the  magic  circle  of  the  waves,  sleep  the  Happy  Isles, 
the  Islands  of  the  Blessed ! 

— Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


83 


SOLOMON  AND  THE  BEES 

When  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory, 

Unto  his  throne  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came, 

So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read  the  story. 

Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  monarch’s  fame. 

To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court,  and  bring 
Some  fitting  tribute  to  the  mighty  king. 

Nor  this  alone : much  had  her  Highness  heard 
What  flowers  of  learning  graced  the  royal  speech ; 
What  gems  of  wisdom  dropped  with  every  word ; 

What  wholesome  lessons  he  was  wont  to  teach 
In  pleasing  proverbs ; and  she  wished,  in  sooth. 

To  know  if  Rumor  spoke  the  simple  truth. 

Besides,  the  queen  had  heard  (which  piqued  her  most) 
How  through  the  deepest  riddles  he  could  spy ; 

How  all  the  curious  arts  that  women  boast 
Were  quite  transparent  to  his  piercing  eye ; 

And  so  the  queen  had  come  — a royal  guest  — 

To  put  the  sage’s  cunning  to  the  test. 

And  straight  she  held  before  the  monarch’s  view. 

In  either  hand,  a radiant  wreath  of  flowers ; 

The  one,  bedecked  with  every  charming  hue, 

Was  newly  culled  from  Nature’s  choicest  bowers; 
The  other,  no  less  fair  in  every  part, 

Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest  Art. 


84 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


“ Which  is  the  true,  and  which  the  false  ? ” she  said. 

Great  Solomon  was  silent.  All  amazed, 

Each  wondering  courtier  shook  his  puzzled  head ; 

While  at  the  garlands  long  the  monarch  gazed. 

As  one  who  sees  a miracle,  and  fain. 

For  very  rapture,  ne’er  would  speak  again. 

“ Which  is  the  true  ? ” once  more  the  woman  asked. 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement  of  the  king ; 

“ So  wise  a head  should  not  be  hardly  tasked. 

Most  learned  Liege,  with  such  a trivial  thing  ! ” 
But  still  the  sage  was  silent ; it  w^as  plain 
A deepening  doubt  perplexed  the  royal  brain. 

While  thus  he  pondered,  presently  he  sees. 

Hard  by  the  casement,  — so  the  story  goes,  — 

A little  band  of  busy,  bustling  bees. 

Hunting  for  honey  in  a withered  rose. 

The  monarch  smiled,  and  raised  his  royal  head ; 

“ Open  the  window  ! ” — that  was  all  he  said. 

The  window  opened  at  the  king’s  command ; 

Within  the  rooms  the  eager  insects  flew. 

And  sought  the  flowers  in  Sheba’s  dexter  hand  ! 

And  so  the  king  and  all  the  courtiers  knew 
That  wreath  was  Nature’s;  — and  the  baffled  queen 
Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she  had  seen. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


85 


My  story  teaches  — every  tale  should  bear 
A fitting  moral  — that  the  wise  may  find 
In  trifles  light  as  atoms  in  the  air 
Some  useful  lesson  to  enrich  the  mind,  — 

Some  truth  designed  to  profit  or  to  please, 

As  Israel’s  king  learned  wisdom  from  the  bees  ! 

— John  G.  Saxe. 


WHALE  FISHING  IN  THE  INDIAN  OCEAN 

The  day  was  exceedingly  still  and  sultry,  and,  with 
nothing  special  to  engage  them,  the  crew  of  our  ship 
could  hardly  resist  the  spell  of  sleep  induced  by  such  a 
vacant  sea ; for  this  part  of  the  Indian  Ocean  through 
which  we  then  were  voyaging  is  not  what  whalemen 
call  a lively  ground  — that  is,  it  affords  fewer  glimpses 
of  porpoises,  dolphins,  flying  fish,  and  other  vivacious 
denizens ‘of  more  stirring  waters  than  those  of  the  Rio 
de  la  Plata  or  the  inshore  ground  of  Peru. 

It  was  my  turn  to  stand  at  the  foremast  head ; and, 
with  my  shoulders  leaning  against  the  slackened  royal 
shrouds,  to  and  fro  I idly  swayed  in  what  seemed  an 
enchanted  air.  No  resolution  could  withstand  it ; in 
that  dreamy  mood  losing  all  consciousness,  at  last  my 
soul  went  out  of  my  body,  though  my  body  still  con- 
tinued to  sway  as  a pendulum  will  long  after  the  power 
which  first  moved  it  is  withdrawn. 


86 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Ere  forgetfulness  altogether  came  over  me,  I had  no- 
ticed that  the  seamen  at  the  main  and  mizzen  mast- 
heads were  already  drowsy,  so  that  at  last  all  three  of 
us  lifelessly  swung  from  the  spars,  and  for  every  swing 
that  we  made  there  was  a nod  from  below  from  the 
slumbering  helmsman.  The  waves,  too,  nodded  their 
indolent  crests,  and  across  the  wide  trance  of  the  sea 
east  nodded  to  west,  and  the  sun  over  all. 

Suddenly  bubbles  seemed  bursting  beneath  my  closed 
eyes ; like  vices  my  hands  grasped  the  shrouds ; some 
invisible,  gracious  agency  preserved  me ; with  a shock 
I came  back  to  life.  And  lo  ! close  under  our  lee,  not 
forty  fathoms  off,  a gigantic  sperm  whale  lay  rolling  in 
the  water  like  a capsized  hull  of  a frigate,  his  broad, 
glossy  back,  of  an  Ethiopian  hue,  glistening  in  the  sun’s 
rays  like  a mirror.  But  lazily  undulating  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  and  ever  and  anon  tranquilly  spouting  his 
vapory  jet,  the  whale  looked  like  a portly  burgher 
smoking  his  pipe  of  a warm  afternoon.  But  that 
pipe,  poor  whale,  was  thy  last.  As  if  struck  by  some 
enchanter’s  wand,  the  sleepy  ship  and  every  sleeper 
in  it  all  at  once  started  into  wakefulness ; and  more 
than  a score  of  voices  from  all  parts  of  the  vessel, 
shouted  forth  the  accustomed  cry,  as  the  great  fish 
slowly  and  regularly  spouted  the  sparkling  brine  into 
the  air. 

“Clear  away  the  boats  ! Luff  !”  cried  Ahab.  And, 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


87 


to  the 
leeward,  but 
with  such  a 
steady  tranquillity, 
that,  thinking  after  all  he 
might  not  as  yet  be  alarmed, 
Ahab  gave  orders  that  not  an  oar 
should  be  used,  and  no  man  must 
speak  but  in  whispers.  So,  seated 
like  Ontario  Indians  on  the  gunwales  of 
the  boats,  we  swiftly  but  silently  paddled 
along,  the  calm  not  admitting  of  the  noise- 


obeying  his  own  order,  he  dashed  the  helm  down 
before  the  helmsman  could  handle  the  spokes. 

The  sudden  exclamations  of  the  crew  must  have 

alarmed  the  whale ; 
and  ere  the  boats 
were  down,  ma- 
j estically  turning, 
he  swam  away 


88 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


less  sails  being  set.  Presently,  as  we  thus  glided  in 
chase,  the  monster  perpendicularly  flirted  his  tail  forty 
feet  into  the  air,  and  then  sank  out  of  sight  like  a 
tower  swallowed  up. 

“There  go  flukes  !”  was  the  cry,  an  announcement 
immediately  followed  by  Stubb’s  producing  his  match 
and  igniting  his  pipe,  for  now  a respite  was  granted. 
After  the  full  interval  of  his  sounding  had  elapsed,  the 
whale  rose  again,  and  being  now  in  advance  of  the 
smoker’s  boat,  and  much  nearer  to  it  than  to  any  of  the 
others,  Stubb  counted  upon  the  honor  of  the  capture. 
It  was  obvious  now  that  the  whale  had  at  length  be- 
come aware  of  his  pursuers.  All  silence  of  cautious^ 
ness  was  therefore  no  longer  of  use.  Paddles  were 
dropped  and  oars  came  loudly  into  play.  And  still 
puffing  at  his  pipe,  Stubb  cheered  on  his  crew  to  the 
assault. 

Yes,  a mighty  change  had  come  over  the  fish.  All 
alive  to  his  jeopardy,  he  was  going  “head  out,”  that 
part  obliquely  projecting  from  the  mad  yeast  which 
he  brewed. 

“Start  her,  start  her,  my  men  ! Don’t  hurry  your- 
selves ; take  plenty  of  time  — but  start  her ; start 
her  like  thunder  claps,  that’s  all,”  cried  Stubb,  splut- 
tering out  the  smoke  as  he  spoke.  “ Start  her  now ; 
give  ’em  the  long  and  strong  stroke,  Tashtego. 
Start  her !” 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


89 


“Woo-hoo!  Wa-hee!”  screamed  the  Gay  Header 
in  reply,  raising  some  old  war  whoop  to  the  skies  as 
every  oarsman  in  the  strained  boat  involuntarily 
bounced  forward  with  the  one  tremendous  leading 
stroke  which  the  eager  Indian  gave. 

But  his  wild  screams  were  answered  by  others  quite 
as  wild.  “Kee-hee  ! Kee-hee  !”  yelled  Daggoo,  strain- 
ing forward  and  backward  on  his  seat  like  a pacing 
tiger  in  his  cage. 

“Ka-la!  Koo-loo  !”  howled  Queequeg,  as  if  smack- 
ing his  lips  over  a mouthful  of  grenadier’s  steak. 
And  thus  with  oars  and  yells  the  keels  cut  the  sea. 
Meanwhile,  Stubb,  retaining  his  place  in  the  van, 
still  encouraged  his  men  to  the  onset,  all  the  while 
puffing  the  smoke  from  his  mouth.  Like  desperadoes 
they  tugged  and  they  strained  till  the  welcome  cry 
was  heard,  “Stand  up,  Tashtego  ! — give  it  to  him  !” 
The  harpoon  was  hurled.  “Stern  all!”  The  oarsmen 
backed  water;  the  same  moment  something  went 
hot  and  hissing  along  every  one  of  their  wrists.  It 
was  the  magical  line.  An  instant  before  Stubb  had 
swiftly  caught  two  additional  turns  with  it  round  the 
loggerhead;  whence,  by  reason  of  its  increasing  rapid 
circlings,  a hempen  blue  smoke  now  jetted  up  and 
mingled  with  the  steady  fumes  from  his  pipe.  As 
the  line  passed  round  and  round  the  loggerhead,  so, 
also,  just  before  reaching  that  point,  it  blisteringly 


90 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


passed  through  and  through  both  of  Stubb’s  hands, 
from  which  the  handcloths,  or  squares  of  quilted  canvas 
sometimes  worn  at  these  times,  had  accidentally- 
dropped.  It  was  like  holding  an  enemy’s  sharp  two- 
edged  sword  by  the  blade,  and  that  enemy  all  the  time 
striving  to  wrest  it  out  of  your  clutch. 

“Wet  the  line!  wet  the  line!”  cried  Stubb  to  the 
tub  oarsman  (him  seated  by  the  tub),  who,  snatching 
off  his  hat,  dashed  the  sea  water  into  it.  More  turns 
were  taken,  so  that  the  line  began  holding  its  place. 
The  boat  now  flew  through  the  boiling  water  like  a 
shark  all  fins.  Stubb  and  Tashtego  here  changed 
places  — stem  for  stern  — a staggering  business,  truly, 
in  that  rocking  commotion. 

From  the  vibrating  line  extending  the  entire  length 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  boat,  and  from  its  now  being 
more  tight  than  a harp  string,  you  would  have  thought 
the  craft  had  two  keels  — one  cleaving  the  water,  the 
other  the  air — as  the  boat  churned  on  through  both 
opposing  elements  at  once.  A continual  cascade 
played  at  the  bows,  a ceaseless  whirling  eddy  in  her 
wake ; and  at  the  slightest  motion  from  within,  even 
but  of  a little  finger,  the  vibrating,  cracking  craft 
canted  over  her  spasmodic  gunwale  into  the  sea.  Thus 
they  rushed,  each  man  with  might  and  main  clinging 
to  his  seat,  to  prevent  being  tossed  to  the  foam,  and 
the  tall  form  of  Tashtego  at  the  steering  oar  crouching 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


91 


almost  double,  in  order  to  bring  down  his  center  of 
gravity.  Whole  Atlantics  and  Pacifies  seemed  passed 
as  they  shot  on  their  way,  till  at  length  the  whale 
somewhat  slackened  his  flight. 

“Haul  in  — haul  in  !”  cried  Stubb  to  the  bowsman ; 
and  facing  round  towards  the  whale,  all  hands  began 
pulling  the  boat  up  to  him,  while  yet  the  boat  was 
being  towed  on.  Soon  ranging  up  by  his  flank,  Stubb, 
firmly  planting  his  knee  in  the  clumsy  cleat,  darted 
dart  after  dart  into  the  flying  fish ; at  the  word  of 
command  the  boat  alternately  sterning  out  of  the  way 
of  the  whale’s  horrible  wallow  and  then  ranging  up 
for  another  fling. 

The  red  tide  now  poured  from  all  sides  of  the  monster 
like  brooks  down  a hill.  His  tormented  body  rolled 
in  blood,  which  bubbled  and  seethed  for  furlongs  behind 
in  their  wake.  The  slanting  sun  playing  upon  this 
crimson  pond  in  the  sea  sent  back  its  reflection  into 
every  face,  so  that  they  all  glowed  to  each  other  like 
red  men.  And  all  the  while,  jet  after  jet  of  white 
smoke  was  agonizingly  shot  from  the  spiracle  of  the 
whale,  and  vehement  puff  after  puff  from  the  mouth 
of  the  excited  headsman ; as  at  every  dart,  hauling  in 
upon  his  crooked  lance  (by  the  line  attached  to  it), 
Stubb  straightened  it  again  and  again  by  a few  rapid 
blows  against  the  gunwale,  then  again  and  again  sent 
it  into  the  whale. 


92 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


“Pull  up  — pull  up  !”  Ke  now  cried  to  the  bowsman, 
as  the  waning  whale  relaxed  in  his  wrath.  “Pull 
up  ! — close  to  !”  and  the  boat  ranged  along  the  whale’s 
flank.  Then,  reaching  far  over  the  bow,  Stubb  slowly 
churned  his  long,  sharp  lance  into  the  fish,  and  kept  it 
there.  And  now,  starting  from  his  trance  into  that 
unspeakable  thing  called  his  “flurry,”  the  monster 
horribly  wallowed  in  his  blood,  overwrapped  himself  in 
impenetrable,  mad,  boiling  spray,  so  that  the  imperiled 
craft,  instantly  dropping  astern,  had  much  ado  blindly 
to  struggle  out  from  that  frenzied  twilight  into  the 
clear  air  of  the  day. 

And  now,  abating  in  his  flurry,  the  whale  once  more 
rolled  out  into  view,  surging  from  side  to  side  with 
sharp,  cracking,  agonized  respirations.  At  last,  gush 
after  gush  of  clotted  red  gore,  as  if  it  had  been  the 
purple  lees  of  red  wine,  shot  into  the  frighted  air,  and, 
falling  back  again,  ran  dripping  down  his  motionless 
flanks  into  the  sea.  His  heart  had  burst ! 

“He’s  dead,  Mr.  Stubb,”  said  Daggoo. 

“Yes;  both  pipes  smoked  out!”  and  withdrawing 
his  own  from  his  mouth,  Stubb  scattered  the  dead  ashes 
over  the  water.  — Herman  Melville. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


93 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  BIRDS 

Spring  in  our  northern  climate  may  fairly  be  said  to 
extend  from  the  middle  of  March  to  the  middle  of  June. 
At  least,  the  vernal  tide  continues  to  rise  until  the  latter 
date,  and  it  is  not  till  after  the  summer  solstice  that  the 
shoots  and  twigs  begin  to  harden  and  turn  to  wood, 
or  the  grass  to  lose  any  of  its  freshness  and  succu- 
lency. 

It  is  this  period  that  marks  the  return  of  the  birds, 
— one  or  two  of  the  more  hardy  or  half-domesticated 
species,  like  the  song  sparrow  and  the  bluebird,  usually 
arriving  in  March,  while  the  rarer  and  more  brilliant 
wood  birds  bring  up  the  procession  in  June.  But 
each  stage  of  the  advancing  season  gives  prominence 
to  certain  species,  as  to  certain  flowers.  The  dande- 
lion tells  me  when  to  look  for  the  swallow,  the  dog- 
toothed violet  when  to  expect  the  wood  thrush,  and 
when  I have  found  the  wake-robin  in  bloom  I know 
the  season  is  fairly  inaugurated.  With  me  this  flower 
is  associated,  not  merely  with  the  awakening  of  Robin, 
for  he  has  been  awake  some  weeks,  but  with  the  uni- 
versal awakening  and  rehabilitation  of  nature. 

Yet  the  coming  and  going  of  birds  is  more  or  less  a 
mystery  and  a surprise.  We  go  out  in  the  morning, 
and  no  thrush  or  vireo  is  to  be  heard ; we  go  out  again, 
and  every  tree  and  grove  is  musical ; yet  again,  and  all 


94 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


is  silent.  Who  saw  them  come?  Who  s?.w  them 
depart  ? 

This  pert  little  winter  wren,  for  instance,  darting 
in  and  out  the  fence,  diving  under  the  rubbish  here 
and  coming  up  yards  away,  — how  does  he  manage 
with  those  little  circular  wings  to  compass  degrees  and 
zones,  and  arrive  always  in  the  nick  of  time?  Last 
August  I saw  him  in  the  remotest  wilds  of  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  impatient  and  inquisitive  as  usual ; a few  weeks 
later,  on  the  Potomac,  I was  greeted  by  the  same  hardy 
busybody.  Does  he  travel  by  easy  stages  from  bush 
to  bush  and  from  wood  to  wood?  or  has  that  compact 
little  body  force  and  courage  to  brave  the  night  and 
the  upper  air,  and  so  achieve  leagues  at  one  pull  ? 

And  yonder  bluebird  with  the  earth  tinge  on  his 
breast  and  the  sky  tinge  on  his  back,  — did  he  come 
down  out  of  heaven  on  that  bright  March  morning 
when  he  told  us  so  softly  and  plaintively  that,  if  we 
pleased,  spring  had  come?  Indeed,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  return  of  the  birds  more  curious  and  suggestive 
than  in  the  first  appearance,  or  rumors  of  the  appear- 
ance, of  this  little  blue-coat.  The  bird  at  first  seems 
a mere  wandering  voice  in  the  air;  one  hears  its  call 
or  carol  on  some  bright  March  morning,  but  is  uncer- 
tain of  its  source  or  direction;  it  falls  like  a drop  of 
rain  when  no  cloud  is  visible;  one  looks  and  listens, 
but  to  no  purpose. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


95 


The  weather  changes:  perhaps  a cold  snap  with 
snow  comes  on,  and  it  may  be  a week  before  I hear 
the  note  again,  see  the  bird  sitting  on  a stake  on  the 
fence,  lifting  his  wing  as  he  calls  cheerily  to  his  mate. 
Its  notes  now  become  daily  more  frequent;  the  birds 
multiply,  and,  flitting  from  point  to  point,  call  the 
warble  more  confidently  and  gleefully.  Their  boldness 
increases  till  one  sees  them  hovering  with  a saucy, 
inquiring  air  about  barns  and  outbuildings,  peeping 
into  dovecotes  and  stable  windows,  inspecting  knot- 
holes and  pump  trees,  intent  only  on  a place  to  nest. 

They  wage  war  against  robins,  pick  quarrels 
with  swallows,  and  seem  to  deliberate  for  days  over 
the  policy  of  taking  forcible  possession  of  one  of 
the  mud  houses  of  the  latter.  But  as  the  season 
advances  they  drift  more  into  the  background. 
Schemes  of  conquest  which  they  at  first  seemed  bent 
upon  are  abandoned,  and  they  settle  down  very  quietly 
in  their  old  quarters  in  remote  stumpy  fields. 

Not  long  after  the  bluebird  comes  the  robin,  some- 
times in  March,  but  in  most  of  the  northern  states 
April  is  the  month  of  the  robin.  In  large  numbers 
they  scour  the  fields  and  groves.  You  hear  their  piping 
in  the  meadow,  in  the  pasture,  on  the  hillside.  Walk 
in  the  woods,  and  the  dry  leaves  rustle  with  the  whir 
of  their  wings,  the  air  is  vocal  with  their  cheery  call. 
In  excess  of  joy  and  vivacity,  they  run,  leap,  scream. 


96 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


chase  each  other  through  the  air,  diving  and  sweeping 
among  the  trees  with  perilous  rapidity. 

In  that  free,  fascinating  half-work  and  half-play 
pursuit,  — sugar-making,  — a pursuit  which  still  lin- 
gers in  many  parts  of  New  York  as  in  New  England, 
the  robin  is  one’s  constant  companion.  When  the  day 
is  sunny  and  the  ground  bare,  you  meet  him  at  all 
points  and  hear  him  at  all  hours.  At  sunset,  on  the 
tops  of  the  tall  maples,  with  look  heavenward,  and  in 
a spirit  of  utter  abandonment,  he  carols  his  simple 
strain.  And  sitting  thus  amid  the  stark,  silent  trees, 
above  the  wet,  cold  earth,  with  the  chill  of  winter  still 
in  the  air,  there  is  no  fitter  or  sweeter  songster  in  the 
whole  round  year.  It  is  in  keeping  with  the  scene  and 
the  occasion.  How  round  and  genuine  the  notes  are, 
and  how  eagerly  our  ears  drink  them  in ! The  first 
utterance  and  the  spell  of  winter  is  thoroughly  broken, 
and  the  remembrance  of  it  afar  off. 

Robin  is  one  of  the  most  native  and  democratic  of 
our  birds;  he  is  one  of  the  family,  and  seems  much 
nearer  to  us  than  those  rare,  exotic  visitants,  as  the 
orchard  starling,  or  rose-breasted  grosbeak,  with  their 
distant,  high-bred  ways.  Hardy,  noisy,  frolicsome, 
neighborly  and  domestic  in  his  habits,  strong  of  wing 
and  bold  in  spirit,  he  is  the  pioneer  of  the  thrush  family, 
and  well  worthy  of  the  finer  artists  whose  coming  he 
heralds  and  in  a measure  prepares  us  for. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


97 


I could  wish  robin  less  native  and  plebeian  in  one 
respect,  — the  building  of  his  nest.  Its  coarse  ma- 
terial and  rough  masonry  are  creditable  neither  to  his 
skill  as  a workman  nor  his  taste  as  an  artist.  I am 
the  more  forcibly  reminded  of  his  deficiency  in  this 
respect  from  observing  yonder  humming  bird’s  nest, 
which  is  a marvel  of  fitness  and  adaptation,  a proper 
setting  for  this  winged  gem,  — -‘the  body  of  it  composed 
of  a white,  felt-like  substance,  probably  the  down  of 
some  plant  or  the  wool  of  some  worm,  and  toned  down 
in  keeping  with  the  branch  on  which  it  sits  by  minute 
tree  lichens,  woven  together  by  threads  as  fine  and  frail 
as  gossamer. 

From  robin’s  good  looks  and  musical  turn  we 
might  reasonably  predict  a domicile  of  him  as  clean 
and  handsome  a nest  as  the  king-bird’s,  whose  harsh 
jingle,  compared  with  robin’s  evening  melody,  is  as 
the  clatter  of  pots  and  kettles  beside  the  tone  of  a 
flute.  I love  his  note  and  ways  better  even  than  those 
of  the  orchard  starling  or  the  Baltimore  oriole;  yet 
his  nest,  compared  with  theirs,  is  a half-subterranean 
hut  contrasted  with  a Roman  villa.  There  is  something 
courtly  and  poetical  in  a pensile  nest.  Next  to  a castle 
in  the  air  is  a dwelling  suspended  to  the  slender  branch 
of  a tall  tree,  swayed  and  rocked  forever  by  the  wind. 

— John  Bukroughs. 

From  Wake  Robin. 

CATH.  READERS.  7tII  YR. 7 


98 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

Madonna  of  the  Rock. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


99 


THE  NAMES  OF  OUR  LADY 

Through  the  wide  world  thy  children  raise 
Their  prayers,  and  still  we  see 

Calm  are  the  nights  and  bright  the  days 
Of  those  who  trust  in  thee. 

Around  thy  starry  crown  are  wreathed 
So  many  names  divine : 

Which  is  the  dearest  to  my  heart, 

And  the  most  worthy  thine  ? 

Star  of  the  Sea ; we  kneel  and  pray 
When  tempests  raise  their  voice ; 

Star  of  the  Sea ! the  haven  reached, 

We  call  thee  and  rejoice. 

Help  of  Christians : in  our  need 
Thy  mighty  aid  we  claim ; 

If  we  are  faint  and  weary,  then 
We  trust  in  that  dear  name. 

Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary ; 

What  name  can  be  so  sweet 

As  what  we  call  thee  when  we  place 
Our  chaplets  at  thy  feet  ? 


100 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Bright  Queen  of  Heaven : when  we  are  sad, 
Best  solace  of  our  pains ; 

It  tells  us,  though  on  earth  we  toil, 

Our  Mother  lives  and  reigns. 

Our  Lady  of  Mt.  Carmel : thus 
Sometimes  thy  name  is  known 

It  tells  us  of  the  badge  we  wear, 

To  live  or  die  thine  own. 

Our  Lady  dear  of  Victories : 

We  see  our  faith  oppressed. 

And,  praying  for  our  erring  land, 

We  love  that  name  the  best. 

Refuge  of  Sinners : many  a soul. 

By  guilt  cast  down,  and  sin. 

Has  learned  through  this  dear  name  of  thine 
Pardon  and  peace  to  win. 

Health  of  the  Sick ; when  anxious  hearts 
Watch  by  the  sufferer’s  bed, 

On  this  sweet  name  of  thine  they  lean. 
Consoled  and  comforted. 

Mother  of  Sorrows : many  a heart 
Half-broken  by  despair 

Has  laid  its  burden  by  the  cross. 

And  found  a mother  there. 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


101 


Queen  of  all  Saints : the  Church  appeals 
For  her  loved  dead  to  thee; 

She  knows  they  wait  in  patient  pain 
A bright  eternity. 

Fair  Queen  of  Virgins : thy  pure  band, 

The  lilies  round  thy  throne, 

Love  the  dear  title  which  they  bear 
Most  that  it  is  thine  own. 

Mary : the  dearest  name  of  all, 

The  holiest  and  the  best ; 

The  first  low  word  that  Jesus  lisped 
Laid  on  His  mother’s  breast. 

Mary,  — our  comfort  and  our  hope,  — 

Oh  may  that  word  be  given 

To  be  the  last  we  sigh  on  earth,  — 

The  first  we  breathe  in  heaven  ! 

— Adelaide  A.  Procter. 


We  impart  to  the  smallest  acts  the  highest  virtue 
when  we  perform  them  with  a sincere  wish  to  please 
God.  The  merit  of  our  actions  does  not  depend  on 
their  importance. 


— St.  Francis  de  Sales. 


102 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  TWO  ROADS 

It  was  New  Year’s  night;  and  Von  Arden,  having 
fallen  into  an  unquiet  slumber,  dreamed  that  he  was 
an  aged  man  standing  at  a window.  He  raised  his 
mournful  eyes  toward  the  deep  blue  sky,  where  the 
stars  were  floating  like  white  lilies  on  the  surface  of  a 
clear,  calm  lake.  Then  he  cast  them  on  the  earth, 
where  few  more  helpless  beings  than  himself  now 
moved  toward  their  certain  goal  — the  tomb. 

Already,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  passed  sixty 
of  the  stages  which  lead  to  it,  and  he  had  brought 
from  his  journey  nothing  but  errors  and  remorse. 
His  health  was  destroyed,  his  mind  vacant,  his  heart 
sorrowful,  and  his  old  age  devoid  of  comfort. 

The  days  of  his  youth  rose  up  in  a vision  before 
him,  and  he  recalled  the  solemn  moment  when  his 
father  had  placed  him  at  the  entrance  of  two  roads  — 
one  leading  into  a peaceful,  sunny  land,  covered  with 
a fertile  harvest,  and  resounding  with  soft,  sweet  songs ; 
the  other  leading  the  wanderer  into  a deep,  dark  cave, 
whence  there  was  no  issue. 

He  looked  toward  the  sky,  and  cried  out  in  his  agony, 
‘‘Oh,  days  of  my  youth,  return ! Oh,  my  father,  place 
me  once  more  at  the  entrance  to  life,  that  I may  choose 
the  better  way!”  But  the  days  of  his  youth  and  his 
father  had  both  passed  away. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


103 


He  saw  wandering  lights  float  away  over  dark 
marshes,  and  then  disappear;  these  were  the  days  of 
his  wasted  life.  He  saw  a star  fall  from  heaven,  and 
vanish  in  darkness:  this  was  an  emblem  of  himself. 
Then  he  remembered  his  early  companions,  who 
entered  on  life  with  him,  but  who,  having  trod  the 
paths  of  virtue  and  of  labor,  were  now  honored  and 
happy. 

The  clock  in  the  high  church  tower  struck,  and  the 
sound,  falling  on  his  ear,  recalled  his  parents’  early 
love  for  him,  their  erring  son;  the  lessons  they  had 
taught  him;  the  prayers  they  had  offered  up  on  his 
behalf.  Overwhelmed  with  shame  and  grief,  he  cried 
aloud,  “Come  back,  my  early  days ! come  back !” 

And  his  youth  did  return;  for  all  this  was  but  a 
dream  which  visited  his  slumbers  on  New  Year’s  night. 
He  was  still  young,  his  faults  alone  were  real.  He 
thanked  God  fervently  that  time  was  still  his  own; 
that  he  had  not  yet  entered  the  deep,  dark  cavern,  but 
that  he  was  free  to  tread  the  road  leading  to  the  peace- 
ful land  where  sunny  harvests  wave. 

Ye  who  still  linger  on  the  threshold  of  life,  doubting 
which  path  to  choose,  remember  that,  when  years  have 
passed,  and  your  feet  stumble  on  the  dark  mountain, 
you  will  cry  bitterly,  but  cry  in  vain:  “Oh,  youth, 
return!  Oh,  give  me  back  my  early  days!” 

— Jean  Paul  Richter. 


104 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


HORATIUS 

I 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 
By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 
Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 

By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore  it, 

And  named  a trysting  day, 

And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth. 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north, 
To  summon  his  array. 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 
The  messengers  ride  fast. 

And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 
Have  heard  the  trumpet’s  blast. 
Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan 
Who  lingers  in  his  home. 

When  Porsena  of  Clusium 
Is  on  the  march  for  Rome. 

I wis,  in  all  the  Senate, 

There  was  no  heart  so  bold. 

But  sore  it  ached,  and  fast  it  beat, 
When  that  ill  news  was  told. 
Forthwith  uprose  the  Consul, 
Uprose  the  Fathers  all; 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


105 


In  haste  they  girded  up  their  gowns, 

And  hied  them  to  the  wall. 

They  held  a council  standing 
Before  the  River  Gate ; 

Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess, 
For  musing  or  debate. 

Out  spake  the  Consul  roundly: 

“The  bridge  must  straight  go  down; 
For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost. 

Naught  else  can  save  the  town.” 

Just  then  a scout  came  flying. 

All  wild  with  haste  and  fear: 

“To  arms ! to  arms ! Sir  Consul; 

Lars  Porsena  is  here.” 

On  the  low  hills  to  westward 
The  Consul  fixed  his  eye. 

And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 
Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 

And  nearer  fast  and  nearer 
Doth  the  red  whirlwind  come ; 

And  louder  still  and  still  more  loud. 
From  underneath  that  rolling  cloud. 

Is  heard  the  trumpet’s  war  note  proud. 
The  trampling  and  the  hum. 


106 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


And  plainly  and  more  plainly 
Now  through  the  gloom  appears, 
Far  to  left  and  far  to  right, 

In  broken  gleams  of  dark  blue  light. 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright. 
The  long  array  of  spears. 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly. 
Above  that  glimmering  line. 

Now  might  ye  see  the  banners 
Of  twelve  fair  cities  shine ; 

But  the  banner  of  proud  Clusium 
Was  highest  of  them  all, 

The  terror  of  the  Umbrian, 

The  terror  of  the  Gaul. 

Fast  by  the  royal  standard, 
O’erlooking  all  the  war, 

Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 
Sat  in  his  ivory  car. 

By  the  right  wheel  rode  Manilius, 
Prince  of  the  Latian  name ; 

And  by  the  left  false  Sextus, 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame. 

But  when  the  face  of  Sextus 
Was  seen  among  the  foes. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


107 


A yell  that  rent  the  firmament 
From  all  the  town  arose. 

On  the  housetops  was  no  woman 
But  spat  toward  him  and  hissed, 
No  child  but  screamed  out  curses, 
And  shook  its  little  fist. 

But  the  Consul’s  brow  was  sad, 

Ana  the  Consul’s  speech  was  low. 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall 
And  darkly  at  the  foe. 

Their  van  will  be  upon  us 
Before  the  bridge  goes  down; 

And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 
What  hope  to  save  the  town?” 


n 

Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 
The  Captain  of  the  Gate : 

“To  every  man  upon  this  earth 
Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 
And  how  can  man  die  better 
Than  facing  fearful  odds, 

For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers. 
And  the  temples  of  his  gods. 


1U8 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


'‘And  for  the  tender  mother 
Who  dandled  him  to  rest, 

And  for  the  wife  who  nurses 
His  baby  at  her  breast, 

And  for  the  holy  maidens 
^Vho  feed  the  eternal  flame. 

To  save  them  from  false  Sextus 
That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame  ? 


“Hew  down  the  bridge.  Sir  Consul, 
With  all  the  speed  ye  may ; 

I,  with  two  more  to  help  me. 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 

In  yon  straight  path  a thousand 
May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand. 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  me?” 


Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius; 

A Ramnian  proud  was  he : 

“Lo,  I will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee.” 
And  out  spake  strong  Herminius; 

Of  Titian  blood  was  he ; 

“I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side. 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee.” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


109 


‘‘Horatius/’  quoth  the  Consul, 

"As  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be.” 

And  straight  against  that  great  array 
Forth  went  the  dauntless  Three. 

For  Romans  in  Rome’s  quarrel 
Spared  neither  land  nor  gold, 

Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life. 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

Now  while  the  Three  were  tightening 
Their  harness  on  their  backs, 

The  Consul  was  the  foremost  man 
To  take  in  hand  an  ax : 

And  Fathers  mixed  with  Commons 
Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow. 

And  smote  upon  the  planks  above, 

And  loosed  the  props  below. 

Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army. 

Right  glorious  to  behold. 

Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light. 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 
Of  a broad  sea  of  gold. 

Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 
A peal  of  warlike  glee. 

As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread. 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread. 


110 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Rolled  slowly  toward  the  bridge’s  head, 
Where  stood  the  dauntless  Three. 

The  Three  stood  calm  and  silent, 

And  looked  upon  the  foes, 

And  a great  shout  of  laughter 
From  all  the  vanguard  rose: 

And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 
Before  that  deep  array; 

To  earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they  drew. 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 
To  win  the  narrow  way; 

Aunus  from  green  Tifernum, 

Lord  of  the  Hill  of  Vines ; 

And  Seius,  whose  eight  hundred  slaves 
Sicken  in  Ilva’s  mines; 

And  Ficus,  long  to  Clusium 
Vassal  in  peace  and  war. 

Who  led  to  fight  his  Umbrian  powers 
From  that  gray  crag  where,  girt  with  towers, 
The  fortress  of  Nequinurn  lowers 
O’er  the  pale  waves  of  Nar. 

Stout  Lartius  hurled  down  Aunus 
Into  the  stream  beneath : 

Herminius  struck  at  Seius, 

And  clove  him  to  the  teeth : 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


111 


At  Picus  brave  Horatius 
Darted  one  fiery  thrust ; 

And  the  proud  Umbrian’s  gilded  arms 
Clashed  in  the  bloody  dust. 

Then  Ocnus  of  Falernii 

Rushed  on  the  Roman  Three; 

And  Lausulus  of  Urgo, 

The  rover  of  the  sea ; 

And  Aruns  of  Volsinium, 

Who  slew  the  great  wild  boar, 

The  great  wild  boar  that  had  his  den 
Amidst  the  reeds  of  Cosa’s  fen, 

And  wasted  fields,  and  slaughtered  men, 
Along  Albinia’s  shore. 

Herminius  smote  down  Aruns: 

Lartius  laid  Ocnus  low : 

Right  to  the  heart  of  Lausulus 
Horatius  sent  a blow. 

‘'Lie  there,”  he  cried,  “fell  pirate! 

No  more,  aghast  and  pale. 

From  Ostia’s  walls  the  crowd  shall  mark 
The  track  of  thy  destroying  bark. 

No  more  Campania’s  hinds  shall  fly 
To  woods  and  caverns  when  they  spy 
Thy  thrice  accursed  sail.” 


112 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


III 

But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 
Was  heard  among  the  foes. 

A wild  and  wrathful  clamor 
From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 

Six  spears’  length  from  the  entrance 
Halted  that  deep  array, 

And  for  a space  no  man  came  forth 
To  win  the  narrow  way. 

But  hark ! the  cry  is  Astur ; 

And  lo  ! the  ranks  divide ; 

And  the  great  lord  of  Luna 
Comes  with  his  stately  stride. 

Upon  his  ample  shoulders 
Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield, 

And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 
Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

He  smiled  on  those  bold  Romans 
A smile  serene  and  high ; 

He  eyed  the  flinching  Tuscans, 

And  scorn  was  in  his  eye. 

Quoth  he,  “The  she- wolf’s  litter 
Stand  savagely  at  bay : 

But  will  ye  dare  to  follow. 

If  Astur  clears  the  way?” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


113 


Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 
With  both  hands  to  the  height, 

He  rushed  against  Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might. 

With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 
Right  deftly  turned  the  blow. 

The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too  nigh ; 

It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh : 

The  Tuscans  raised  a joyful  cry 
To  see  the  red  blood  flow. 

He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 
He  leaned  one  breathing  space ; 

Then  like  a wild  cat  mad  with  wounds, 
Sprang  right  at  Astur’s  face. 

Through  teeth,  and  skull,  and  helmet 
So  fierce  a thrust  he  sped. 

The  good  sword  stood  a handbreadth  out 
Behind  the  Tuscan’s  head. 

And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 
Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke. 

As  falls  on  Mount  Alvernus 
A thunder-smitten  oak. 

Far  o’er  the  crashing  forest 
The  giant  arms  lie  spread ; 

And  the  pale  augurs,  mustering  low, 

Gaze  on  the  blasted  head. 


GATH.  HEADERS.  7tII  YR. 8 


114 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


On  x\stur’s  throat  Horatius 
Right  firmly  pressed  his  heel, 

And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain, 
Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel. 

^‘And  see,”  he  cried,  '‘the  welcome. 

Fair  guests,  that  waits  you  here ! 

What  noble  Lucumo  comes  next 
To  taste  our  Roman  cheer?” 


But  at  his  haughty  challenge 
A sullen  murmur  ran. 

Mingled  of  wrath,  and  shame,  and  dread. 
Along  the  glittering  van. 

There  lacked  not  men  of  prowess, 

Nor  men  of  lordly  race ; 

For  all  Etruria’s  noblest 
Were  round  the  fatal  place. 


But  all  Etruria’s  noblest 
Felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 
On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses. 

In  the  path  the  dauntless  Three : 
And,  from  the  ghastly  entrance 
Where  those  bold  Romans  stood. 
All  shrank,  like  boys  who  unaware. 
Ranging  the  woods  to  start  a hare. 


116 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Come  to  the  mouth  of  the  dark  lair 
Where,  growling  low,  a fierce  old  bear 
Lies  amidst  bones  and  blood. 

Was  none  who  would  be  foremost 
To  lead  such  dire  attack . 

But  those  behind  cried,  “Forward!” 
And  those  before  cried  “Back!” 
And  backward  now  and  forward 
Wavers  the  deep  array. 

And  on  the  tossing  sea  of  steel. 

To  and  fro  the  standards  reel ; 

And  the  victorious  trumpet  peal 
Dies  fitfully  away. 

IV 

Yet  one  man  for  one  moment 
Stood  out  before  the  crowd ; 

Well  known  was  he  to  all  the  Three, 
And  they  gave  him  greeting  loud. 
“Now  welcome,  welcome,  Sextus! 

Now  welcome  to  thy  home ! 

Why  dost  thou  stay,  and  turn  away  ? 
Here  lies  the  road  to  Rome.” 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  city; 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  dead ; 

And  thrice  came  on  in  fury. 

And  thrice  turned  back  in  dread : 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


117 


And,  white  with  fear  and  hatred, 
Scowled  at  the  narrow  way 

Where,  wallowing  in  a pool  of  blood, 
The  bravest  Tuscans  lay. 

But  meanwhile  ax  and  lever 
Had  manfully  been  plied; 

And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 
Above  the  boiling  tide. 

‘‘Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius!’’ 
Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all. 

“Back,  Lartius ! back,  Herminius! 
Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall !” 

Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius; 
Herminius  darted  back : 

And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 
They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces. 

And  on  the  farther  shore 

Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone. 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

But  with  a crash  like  thunder 
Fell  every  loosened  beam. 

And,  like  a dam,  the  mighty  wreck 
Lay  athwart  the  stream ; 


118 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


And  a long  shout  of  triumph 
Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 

As  to  the  highest  turret  tops 
Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

And,  like  a horse  unbroken 
When  first  he  feels  the  rein, 

The  furious  river  struggled  hard, 

And  tossed  his  tawny  mane, 

And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded. 
Rejoicing  to  be  free, 

And  whirling  down,  in  fierce  career. 
Battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier, 
Rushed  headlong  to  the  sea. 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 

But  constant  still  in  mind; 

Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before. 
And  the  broad  flood  behind. 

“Down  with  him !”  cried  false  Sextus, 
With  a smile  on  his  pale  face. 

“Now  yield  thee,”  cried  Lars  Porsena, 
“Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace.” 

Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 
Those  craven  ranks  to  see ; 

Naught  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  naught  spake  he ; 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


119 


But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 
The  white  porch  of  his  home ; 

And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 
That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome. 

“Oh,  Tiber!  father  Tiber! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 

A Roman’s  life,  a Roman’s  arms, 

Take  thou  in  charge  this  day ! ” 

So  he  spake,  and  speaking  sheathed 
The  good  sword  by  his  side. 

And  with  his  harness  on  his  back 
Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 
Was  heard  from  either  bank; 

But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes, 
Stood  gazing  where  he  sank : 

And  when  above  the  surges 
They  saw  his  crest  appear. 

All  Rome  sent  forth  a rapturous  cry, 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 
Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current. 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain ; 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing; 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 


120 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


And  heavy  with  his  armor, 

And  spent  with  changing  blows: 

And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

Never,  I ween,  did  swimmer, 

In  such  an  evil  case. 

Struggle  through  such  a raging  flood 
Safe  to  the  landing  place : 

But  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely 
By  the  brave  heart  within. 

And  our  good  father  Tiber 
Bore  bravely  up  his  chin. 

“Curse  on  him !”  quoth  false  Sextus; 

“Will  not  the  villain  drown? 

But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 
We  should  have  sacked  the  town  ! ” 
“Heaven  help  him!”  quoth  Lars  Porsena, 
“And  bring  him  safe  to  shore; 

For  such  a gallant  feat  of  arms 
Was  never  seen  before.” 

And  now  he  feels  the  bottom; 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 

Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers 
To  press  his  gory  hands ; 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


121 


And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud. 

He  enters  through  the  River  Gate 
Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

They  gave  him  of  the  corn  land, 

That  was  the  public  right. 

As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 

Could  plow  from  morn  till  night; 

And  they  made  a molten  image. 

And  set  it  up  on  high. 

And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day 
To  witness  if  1 lie. 

It  stands  in  the  Comitium 
Plain  for  all  folk  to  see ; 

Horatius  in  his  harness. 

Halting  upon  one  knee : 

And  underneath  is  written, 

In  letters  all  of  gold. 

How  valiantly  he  kept  the  bridge 
In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

— Thomas  Babington  Macaulay. 


From  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 


122 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  STAR  OF  RELIGIOUS  FREEDOM 

The  foundation  of  the  colony  of  Maryland  was 
peacefully  and  happily  laid.  Within  six  months  it 
had  advanced  more  than  Virginia  had  done  in  as 
many  years.  * 

Under  the  mild  institutions  and  munificence  of 
Lord  Baltimore,  the  dreary  wilderness  soon  bloomed 
with  the  swarming  life  and  activity  of  prosperous 
settlements ; the  Roman  Catholics,  who  were  oppressed 
by  the  laws  of  England,  were  sure  to  find  a peaceful 
asylum  in  the  quiet  harbors  of  the  Chesapeake;  and 
there,  too,  Protestants  were  sheltered  against  Prot- 
estant intolerance.  Such  were  the  beautiful  auspices 
under  which  the  province  of  Maryland  started  into 
being.  Its  history  is  the  history  of  benevolence, 
gratitude,  and  toleration. 

In  April,  1649,  as  if  with  a foresight  of  impending 
danger,  and  an  earnest  desire  to  stay  its  approach 
the  Roman  Catholics  of  Maryland  with  the  earnest 
concurrence  of  their  governor  and  of  the  proprietary, 
determined  to  place  upon  their  statute  book  an  act 
for  the  religious  freedom  which  had  ever  been  sacred 
on  their  soil. 

“And  whereas  the  enforcing  of  the  conscience  in 
matters  of  religion”  — such  was  the  sublime  tenor 
of  a part  of  the  statute. — “hath  frequently  fallen 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


123 


out  to  be  of  dangerous  consequence  in  those  common- 
wealths where  it  has  been  practiced,  and  for  the  more 
quiet  and  peaceable  government  of  this  province,  and 
the  better  to  preserve  mutual  love  and  amity  among 
the  inhabitants,  no  person  within  this  province  shall 
be  any  ways  troubled,  molested,  or  discountenanced 
for  his  or  her  religion,  or  in  the  free  exercise  thereof.” 

Thus  did  the  early  star  of  religious  freedom  appear 
as  the  harbinger  of  day. 

The  greatest  of  English  poets,  when  he  represents 
the  ground  teeming  with  living  things  at  the  word  of 
the  Creator,  paints  the  moment  when  the  forms,  so 
soon  to  be  instinct  with  perfect  life  and  beauty,  are. 
yet  emerging  from  the  inanimate  earth,  and  when  but 

Half  appeared 

The  tawny  lion  pawing  to  get  free ; . 

then  springs,  as  broke  from  bonds, 

And  rampant  shakes  his  brinded  mane. 

So  it  was  with  the  freedom  of  religion  in  the  United 
States. 

The  clause  for  liberty  in  Maryland  extended  only 
to  Christians,  and  was  introduced  by  the  proviso 
that  “whatsoever  person  shall  blaspheme  God,  or 
shall  deny  or  reproach  the  Holy  Trinity,  or  any  of 
the  three  persons  thereof,  shall  be  punished  with 
death.” 


124 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


But  the  design  of  the  law  of  Maryland  was  un- 
doubtedly to  protect  freedom  of  conscience ; and 
some  years  after  it  had  been  confirmed,  the  apologist 
of  Lord  Baltimore  could  assert  that  his  government 
had  never  given  disturbance  to  any  person  in  Mary- 
land for  matter  of  religion ; that  the  colonists  enjoyed 
freedom  of  conscience,  not  less  than  freedom  of  person 
and  estate,  as  amply  as  ever  any  people  in  any  place 
in  the  world.  — George  Bancroft. 


MARY’S  INTERCESSION 

Oh,  thought  to  set  the  coldest  heart  on  fire ; 

Oh,  thought  to  cheer  the  most  despondent  breast; 
A thousand  times  with  the  regions  blessed  — 

A thousand  times  the  bright  angelic  choir 
Have  heard  my  name  in  accents  of  desire. 

To  Jesus’s  ear,  by  Mary’s  lips  addressed : 

And  always  coupled  with  some  grand  request, 
Some  grace,  not  all  my  life  toil  could  acquire; 

And  with  such  pleading  in  her  voice  and  eyes, 
Persuasive  grace,  maternal  majesty. 

That  He,  who  ne’er  her  slightest  wish  denies  — 
Although  the  boon  be  far  too  great  for  me. 
Unworthy  as  He  knows  me  — He  replies, 

'‘As  thou  dost  will,  My  Mother,  let  it  be.” 

— Sister  Mary  Stanislaus  MacCarthy,  O.  S.  D. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


125 


MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS 

For  months  Mary  Stuart  had  been  under  sentence 
of  death.  For  weeks  the  warrant  for  the  execution 
had  been  signed.  And  yet,  after  so  much  delay,  the 
warning  that  she  must  prepare  to  die  at  last,  came 
suddenly,  and  the  time  allowed  was  short. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  seventh  of  February,  1587, 
the  earls  of  Shrewsbury  and  Kent  arrived.  Admitted 
to  her  presence,  the  death  warrant  was  read  to  her. 
The  queen  listened  in  dignified  composure  and  thanked 
them  for  their  message.  Death,  she  said,  should  be 
welcome  to  her,  although  ‘'brought  about  by  artifice 
and  fraud.”  Then,  laying  her  hand  on  a Testament, 
she  called  upon  God  to  witness  that,  "As  for  the  death 
of  your  sovereign,  I never  imagined,  never  sought  it, 
never  consented  to  it.” 

The  Earl  of  Kent  objected  that  the  book  was  a 
Popish  Testament,  and  the  oath,  therefore,  of  no 
value. 

"It  is  a Catholic  Testament,”  answered  Mary,  "and 
on  that  account  I prize  it  more,  and  therefore,  accord- 
ing to  your  own  reasoning,  you  ought  to  judge  my  oath 
the  more  satisfactory.” 

She  then  requested,  as  the  single  indulgence  she 
would  ask,  that  she  might  have  the  attendance  of 
her  almoner,  who  was  still  in  the  castle.  The  request. 


126 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


she  was  told,  could  not  be  granted.  “It  was  contrary 
to  the  law  of  God  and  the  law  of  the  land,  and  would 
endanger  both  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  commis- 
sioners.” 

Kent  then  suggested  that  she  should  receive  the 
Dean  of  Peterborough,  who  would  instruct  her  in  the 
truth  and  “show  her  the  error  of  the  false  religion  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up.”  The  queen  declined 
the  services  of  the  dean.  She  would  die  in  the  religion 
in  which  she  had  been  born. 

“Madam,”  interrupted  the  earl,  “your  life  would 
be  the  death  of  our  religion,  and  your  death  will  be 
its  preservation.” 

In  reply  to  her  question  when  she  was  to  die,  — 
“To-morrow  morning  at  eight  o’clock,”  was  the  answer. 

“That  is  ver^  sudden,”  said  the  queen,  and  asked 
for  some  slight  extension  of  the  time. 

“It  is  not  in  our  power,”  answered  the  earl.  “You 
must  die  to-moiTow  at  the  hour  we  have  named.” 
And  so  they  parted. 

Calm  and  self-possessed  herself,  the  queen’s  greatest 
effort  was  now  to  check  the  wild  sobbing  and  frantic 
grief  of  her  attendants.  To  her  physician  she  remarked, 
“They  said  I was  to  die  for  attempting  the  life  of  the 
Queen  of  England,  of  which,  you  know,  I am  innocent; 
but  now  this  earl  lets  out  the  fact  that  it  is  on  account 
of  my  religion.” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


127 


Mary,  Queen  of 


128 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Soon  was  heard  the  noise  of  hammering  on  the 
planks  of  the  scaffold  in  the  great  hall  adjoining. 
With  this  sound  ringing  in  her  ears,  she  passed  the 
entire  night  in  writing  letters  and  her  will,  and  in  her 
devotions.  At  four  o’clock  she  sought  a short  repose 
on  her  pillow,  but  her  attendants  remarked  that  she 
did  not  sleep,  and  that  her  lips  were  constantly  moving 
as  in  prayer.  At  six  o’clock  she  told  her  ladies  “she 
had  but  two  hours  to  live,”  and  to  “dress  her  as  for 
a festival.” 

On  her  way  to  the  hall,  Mary  was  met  by  her  faith- 
ful servant,  Andrew  Melville,  who  threw  himself  on 
his  knees  before  her,  wringing  his  hands  in  uncon- 
trollable agony.  “Woe  is  me,”  he  said,  “that  it 
should  be  my  hard  lot  to  carry  back  such  tidings  to 
Scotland.” 

“Weep  not,  Melville,  my  good  and  faithful  servant; 
thou  shouldst  rather  rejoice  to  see  the  end  of  the  long 
troubles  of  Mary  Stuart.  This  world  is  vanity,  and 
full  of  sorrows.  I am  a Catholic,  thou  art  a Protestant ; 
but  as  there  is  but  one  Christ,  I charge  thee,  in  1 1 is 
name,  to  bear  witness  that  I die  firm  to  my  religion, 
a true  Scotchwoman,  and  true  to  France,”  and  then, 
with  a message  to  her  son,  she  concluded,  “May  God 
forgive  them  that  have  thirsted  for  my  blood.” 

On  account  of  her  lameness,  the  queen  had  descended 
the  stairway  to  the  hall  with  difficulty,  and  was 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


129 


obliged  to  accept  the  offer  of  Paulet’s  assistance  to 
mount  the  steps  to  the  scaffold. 

“I  thank  you,  sir,”  she  said;  “it  is  the  last  trouble 
I will  ever  give  you.” 

The  death  warrant  was  again  read  by  Beale,  in  a 
loud  voice.  Then  the  Dean  of  Peterborough  began 
to  address  her.  His  mistress,  he  said,  was  careful  of 
the  welfare  of  Mary’s  soul,  and  had  sent  him  to  bring 
her  out  of  the  creed,  in  which,  if  she  continued,  “she 
must  be  damned.” 

Mary  begged  him  not  to  concern  himself  with  her. 
He  persisted.  She  turned  away.  He  walked  around 
the  scaffold  and  again  he  began. 

The  scene  was  horrible  and  scandalous.  The  Earl 
of  Kent  bade  him  stop  preaching  and  begin  to  pray. 
He  did  so,  and  his  prayer  was  the  echo  of  his  sermon. 

But  now  Mary  heeded  him  no  more.  She  took  her 
refuge  in  her  own  prayers  and  the  repetition  of  the 
psalms  for  the  dying.  She  prayed  for  her  son  and 
for  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  the  prosperity  of  Scotland, 
for  her  enemies,  and  for  herself.  She  then  arose,  cru- 
cifix in  hand,  and  exclaimed,  “As  Thy  arms,  0 God, 
were  stretched  out  upon  the  cross,  so  receive  me  into 
the  arms  of  Thy  mercy  and  forgive  me  my  sins.” 

“Madam,”  said  the  Earl  of  Kent,  “it  were  better 
for  you  to  leave  such  popish  trumperies,  and  bear 
Him  in  your  heart.” 

CATH.  READERS.  7tII  YR.  9 


130 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


“Can  I/'  she  answered,  “ hold  the  representation  of 
my  crucified  Redeemer  in  my  hand  without  bearing 
Him  at  the  same  time  in  my  heart  ? ” Then  she  knelt 
down,  saying,  “O  Lord,  into  Thy  hands  I commend 
my  spirit.” 

The  headsman  then  proceeded  with  his  task. 
The  head  was  severed  from  the  body  and  held  up 
to  the  gaze  of  the  bystanders.  The  executioner 
repeated  the  formula,  “God  save  Queen  Elizabeth.” 

“So  perish  all  her  enemies,”  added  the  Dean  of 
Peterborough. 

“So  perish  all  the  enemies  of  the  Gospel,”  exclaimed 
the  Earl  of  Kent. 

But  not  one  voice  was  heard  to  say,  “Amen !” 

— James  F.  Meline. 


ROSARY 

Were  every  word  I wrote  a gem. 

And  every  thought  a golden  thread, 
’Twere  all  unworthy  to  o’erspread 
My  Lady’s  raiment’s  very  hem. 

With  rarest  pearls  of  words  and  deeds. 

Into  historic  settings  wrought. 

In  costliest  chain  of  human  thought 
I’d  form  my  Lady’s  Rosary  beads. 

— Brother  Azarias. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


131 


KNIGHTS  OF  WEATHER 

When  down  the  filmy  lanes 
The  too  wise  sun  goes  grieving, 
A wake  of  splendor  leaving 
Upbillowed  from  the  ground; 
When  at  the  window  panes 
The  hooded  chestnuts  rattle, 
And  there  is  clash  of  battle 
New  England’s  oaks  around : 

Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather. 
We  birds  of  sober  feather, 

Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 
That  summer’s  pomp  is  slain; 
And  make  a mighty  shouting 
For  King  October’s  outing. 

The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane ! 

When  dappled  butterflies 
Have  crept  away  to  cover. 

And  one  persistent  plover 
Is  coaxing  from  the  fen ; 

When  apples  show  the  skies 
Their  bubbly  lush  vermilion. 
And  from  a rent  pavilion 
Laugh  down  on  maids  and  men: 


132 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather, 

We  birds  of  sober  feather, 

Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 
That  summer’s  pomp  is  slain ; 

And  make  a mighty  shouting 
For  King  October’s  outing, 

The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane ! 

When  pricks  the  winy  air; 

When  o’er  the  meadows  clamber 
Cloud  masonries  of  amber ; 

When  brooks  are  silver  clear ; 

When  conquering  colors  dare 
The  hills  and  cliffy  places. 

To  hold,  with  braggart  graces, 

High  wassail  of  the  year : 

Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather 
We  birds  of  sober  feather. 

Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 
That  summer’s  pomp  is  slain; 

And  make  a mighty  shouting 
For  King  October’s  outing, 

The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane ! 

— Louise  Imogen  Guiney. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


133 


THE  LILY 

An  angel  knelt  at  the  throne  of  God,  carrying  in  his 
arms  a child  of  wonderful  beauty.  God  smiled  as  He 
laid  His  hand  upon  the  brow  of  the  sleeping  babe,  say- 
ing, ^‘Go  without  sin  into  the  world  below.  Beauty 
of  face  and  form  shall  be  thine  always,  but  more  beauti- 
ful still  shall  be  the  whiteness  of  thy  soul.  Aye,  for 
ever  and  ever  shall  thy  praises  be  sung,  beloved  and 
blessed  among  all  women.” 

What  tongue  shall  tell  the  majesty  of  these  words, 
or  describe  the  sublimity  of  that  blessing  ? Silence  fell 
upon  those  gathered  there,  then  out  of  the  brilliant 
throng  cherubim  and  seraphim  slowly  emerged,  clad 
in  garments  like  the  sun,  and,  approaching  the  angel, 
they  looked  with  awe  on  the  lovely  creature  God  had 
blessed. 

As  the  golden  gates  of  Heaven  swung  wide  apart  the 
angel  rose,  and  passing  swiftly  down  the  jeweled  streets 
and  through  those  gleaming  portals,  bore  his  precious 
burden  to  the  earth.  As  he  descended,  the  heavens 
glowed  with  light,  and  his  pathway  became  as  the  day, 
for  the  radiance  caught  from  the  golden  palaces  and 
jeweled  streets  within  cast  its  magnificence  before  him; 
and  those  wonderful  lights  have  dwelt,  ever  since,  some- 
where in  the  skies. 

Silently  and  swiftly  the  angel  glided  to  the  earth. 


134 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


If  there  were  clouds  before  him  in  the  sky  they  became 
like  burnished  brass,  and  only  served  to  mark  his  way 
with  brilliance.  The  moon  hung  far  below,  a palace 
of  limpid  crystal  swinging  in  a sky  of  turquoise  blue. 
Her  silver  light  flooded  everything  with  beauty,  and 
twinkling  moonbeams  lay  like  jewels  all  along  his  path. 
And  then,  as  if  heaping  splendor  upon  splendor,  the 
stars  flamed  out,  like  gems  woven  into  the  celestial 
tapestry.  What  a wonderful  background  of  magnifi- 
cence for  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Angel  and  the 
Blessed  Maid!  The  earth  lay  at  their  feet  reflecting 
the  luster  of  the  skies.  The  immensity,  the  mystery 
of  God  was  all  about  them. 

Gently  the  angel  laid  the  tiny  baby  in  its  mother’s 
arms;  and  thus  a princess  came  upon  the  earth,  for 
Mary  was  of  royal  blood,  belonging  to  the  house  of 
David.  She  grew  in  strength,  and  her  beauty  was 
marvelous  to  behold.  Her  face  and  form  were  per- 
fect, and  as  God  loved  to  look  upon  her  too,  her  sweet 
innocence  was  greater  still. 

Lovely  as  a dream,  and  in  purest  modesty,  Mary 
went  her  way,  growing  to  sweet  womanhood  in  abso- 
lute perfection.  Her  crowning  joy  of  life  came  with  her 
motherhood.  Oh,  glorious  destiny ! Mother  of  God ! 

«{« 

At  length,  when  Mary’s  mission  on  earth  was 
finished,  the  angel  again  bore  her  pure  white  soul  to 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


135 


God.  Once  more  within  the  portals  of  the  golden 
gates  she  stood,  radiantly  beautiful. 

But  the  earth  had  loved  this  Blessed  Virgin.  Her 
life  upon  its  bosom  had  honored  it.  The  world  was 
sweeter  and  purer  for  her  visit  here.  So  Earth  cried 
out  to  Heaven,  “She  dwelt  with  me  awhile;  pure  and 
beautiful  as  the  angels  she  was,  yet  she  loved  this 
world.  Shall  she  give  us  no  proof  of  this  love  ? Even 
the  skies,  as  she  passed  swiftly  through  them,  bright- 
ened and  beamed  into  glory.  Shall  we  have  nothing? 
Give  us  an  eternal  pledge  of  her  life  here  below.” 

Then  the  Earth  beheld  a glorious  thing;  for  then 
was  the  lily  born.  Like  a snow  princess,  proud  and 
royal,  it  sprang  forth  wherever  her  feet  had  trod. 
Each  petal,  curved  and  delicate,  beamed  brilliantly 
white  and  pure.  From  its  slender  stalk  of  green  arose 
the  exquisite  flower,  tall  and  stately,  holding  its  head 
aloft  and  graceful,  and  the  world  smiled  in  grateful 
admiration. 

Then  the  Earth  said,  “I  am  satisfied.  No  fairer 
jewel  have  I than  flowers,  and  this  royal  lily  is  the 
fairest.  I shall  guard  the  gift  most  sacredly  for- 
ever.” 

So  this  is  why  we  fill  our  altars  and  our  churches  with 
these  precious  lilies,  bringing  them  in  abundance  to 
God  and  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

— Edith  Ogden  Harrison  (abridged). 


136 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


HABIT 

Every  habit  and  faculty  is  maintained  and  increased 
by  the  corresponding  actions : the  habit  of  walking  by 
walking,  the  habit  of  running  by  running.  If  you 
would  be  a good  reader,  read ; if  a writer,  write.  But 
when  you  shall  not  have  read  for  thirty  days  in  suc- 
cession, but  have  done  something  else,  you  will  know 
the  consequence.  In  the  same  way,  if  you  shall  have 
lain  down  ten  days,  get  up  and  attempt  to  make  a 
long  walk,  and  you  will  see  how  your  legs  are  weak- 
ened. Generally,  then,  if  you  would  make  anything  a 
habit,  do  it;  if  you  would  not  make  it  a habit,  do  not 
do  it,  but  accustom  yourself  to  do  something  else  in 
place  of  it. 

So  it  is  with  respect  to  the  affections  of  the  soul: 
when  you  have  been  angry,  you  must  know  that  not 
only  has  this  evil  befallen  you,  but  that  you  have  also 
increased  the  habit,  and  in  a manner  thrown  fuel  upon 
fire. 

He  who  has  had  a fever,  and  has  been  relieved 
from  it,  is  not  in  the  same  state  that  he  was  before, 
unless  he  has  been  completely  cured.  Something 
of  the  kind  happens  also  in  diseases  of  the  soul. 
Certain  traces  and  blisters  are  left  in  it,  and  unless  a 
man  shall  completely  efface  them,  when  he  is  again 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


137 


lashed  on  the  same  places,  the  last  will  produce  not 
blisters,  but  sores. 

If  then  you  wish  not  to  be  of  an  angry  temper,  do 
not  feed  the  habit;  throw  nothing  on  it  which  will 
increase  it;  at  first  keep  quiet,  and  count  the  days 
on  which  you  have  not  been  angry.  “ I used  to  be  in 
a passion  every  day;  now  every  second  day;  then 
evei;‘y  third,  then  every  fourth.”  But  if  you  have 
intermitted  thirty  days,  make  a sacrifice  to  God. 
For  the  habit  at  first  begins  to  be  weakened,  and  then 
is  completely  destroyed.  “I  have  not  been  vexed 
to-day,  nor  the  day  after,  nor  yet  on  any  succeeding 
day  during  two  or  three  months ; but  I took  care  when 
some  exciting  things  happened.”  Be  assured  that  you 
are  in  a good  way. 

How  then  shall  this  be  done?  Be  willing  at  length 
to  be  approved  by  yourself,  be  willing  to  appear  beauti- 
ful to  God,  desire  to  be  in  purity  with  your  own  pure 
self  and  with  God.  It  is  even  sufficient  if  you  resort 
to  the  society  of  noble  and  just  men,  and  compare 
yourself  with  them,  whether  you  find  one  who  is  living 
or  dead. 

But  in  the  first  place,  be  not  hurried  away  by  the 
rapidity  of  the  appearance;  but  say,  '‘Appearances, 
wait  for  me  a little;  let  me  see  who  you  are,  and 
what  you  are  about ; let  me  put  you  to  the  test.”  And 
then  do  not  allow  the  appearance  to  lead  you  on  and 


138 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


draw  lively  pictures  of  the  things  which  will  follow,  for 
if  you  do,  it  will  carry  you  off  wherever  it  pleases. 
But  rather  bring  in  to  oppose  it  some  other  beautiful 
and  noble  appearance,  and  cast  out  this  base  appear- 
ance. And  if  you  are  accustomed  to  be  exercised  in 
this  way,  you  will  see  what  shoulders,  what  sinews, 
what  strength  you  have.  But  now  it  is  only  trifling 
words,  and  nothing  more. 

This  is  the  true  athlete,  the  man  who  exercises 
himself  against  such  appearance.  Stay,  wretch,  do 
not  be  carried  away.  Great  is  the  combat,  divine  is 
the  work;  it  is  for  kingship,  for  freedom,  for  happi- 
ness. Remember  God;  call  on  him  as  a helper  and 
protector. 

For  take  away  the  fear  of  death,  and  suppose  as 
many  thunders  and  lightnings  as  you  please,  and  you 
will  know  what  calm  and  serenity  there  is  in  the  ruling 
faculty.  But  if  you  have  once  been  defeated  and 
say  that  you  will  conquer  hereafter,  and  then  say  the 
same  again,  be  assured  that  you  will  at  last  be  in  so 
wretched  a condition  and  so  weak  that  you  will  not 
even  know  afterwards  that  you  are  doing  wrong,  but 
you  will  even  begin  to  make  apologies  for  your  wrong- 
doing. 


— Epictetus. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


139 


OPPORTUNITY 

How  shall  I live?  How  shall  I make  the  most  of 
my  life  and  put  it  to  the  best  use?  How  shall  I be- 
come a man  and  do  a man’s  work?  This,  and  not 
politics  or  trade  or  war  or  pleasure,  is  the  question. 
The  primary  consideration  is  not  how  one  shall  get  a 
living,  but  how  he  shall  live,  for  if  he  live  rightly, 
whatever  is  needful  he  shall  easily  find. 

Life  is  opportunity,  and  therefore  its  whole  circum- 
stance may  be  made  to  serve  the  purpose  of  those  who 
are  bent  on  self-improvement,  on  making  themselves 
capable  of  doing  thorough  work.  Opportunity  is  a 
word  which  like  so  many  others  that  are  excellent,  we 
get  from  the  Romans.  It  means  near  port,  close  to 
haven.  It  is  a favorable  occasion,  time,  or  place  for 
learning  or  saying  or  doing  a thing.  It  is  an  invitation 
to  seek  safety  and  refreshment,  an  appeal  to  make 
escape  from  what  is  low  and  vulgar  and  to  take  refuge 
in  high  thoughts  and  worthy  deeds,  from  which  flows 
increase  of  strength  and  joy.  It  is  omnipresent. 

What  we  call  evils,  as  poverty,  neglect,  and  suffer- 
ing, are,  if  we  are  wise,  opportunities  for  good.  Death 
itself  teaches  life’s  value  not  less  than  its  vanity.  It 
is  the  background  against  which  its  worth  and  beauty 
stand  forth  in  clear  relief.  Its  dark  form  follows  us 
like  our  shadows,  to  bid  us  win  the  prize  while  yet 


140 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


there  is  time;  to  teach  that  if  we  live  in  what  is 
permanent,  the  destroyer  cannot  blight  what  we 
know  and  love;  to  urge  us,  with  a power  that  be- 
longs to  nothing  else,  to  lay  the  stress  of  all  our 
hoping  and  doing  on  the  things  that  cannot  pass 
away. 

‘‘Poverty,”  says  Ouida,  “is  the  north  wind  that 
lashes  men  into  Vikings.”  “Lowliness  is  young  ambi- 
tion’s ladder.” 

What  is  more  pleasant  than  to  read  of  strong- 
hearted  youths,  who,  in  the  midst  of  want  and  hard- 
ships of  many  kinds,  have  clung  to  books,  feeding  like 
bees  to  flowers  ? By  the  light  of  pine  logs,  in  dim-lit 
garrets,  in  the  fields  following  the  plow,  in  early  dawns 
when  others  are  asleep,  they  ply  their  blessed  task, 
seeking  nourishment  for  the  mind,  athirst  for  truth, 
yearning  for  full  sight  of  the  high  worlds  of  which 
they  have  caught  faint  glimpses ; happier  now,  lacking 
everything  save  faith  and  a great  purpose,  than  in 
after  years  when  success  shall  shower  on  them  applause 
and  gold. 

Life  is  good,  and  opportunities  of  becoming  and 
doing  good  are  always  with  us.  Our  house,  our  table, 
our  tools,  our  books,  our  city,  our  country,  our  lan- 
guage, our  business,  our  profession,  — the  people  who 
love  us  and  those  who  hate,  they  who  help  and  they 
who  oppose  — what  is  all  this  but  opportunity  ? 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


141 


Wherever  we  be,  there  is  opportunity  of  turning  to 
gold  the  dust  of  daily  happenings. 

If  snow  and  storm  keep  me  at  home,  is  not  here  an  in- 
vitation to  turn  to  the  immortal  silent  ones  who  never 
speak  unless  they  are  addressed?  If  loss  or  pain  or 
wrong  befall  me,  shall  they  not  show  me  the  soul  of 
good  there  is  in  things  evil  ? Good  fortune  may  serve 
to  persuade  us  that  the  essential  good  is  a noble  mind 
and  a conscience  without  flaw. 

Success  will  make  plain  the  things  in  which  we  fail : 
failure  shall  spur  us  on  to  braver  hope  and  striving. 
If  I am  left  alone,  yet  God  and  all  the  heroic  dead  are 
with  me  still.  If  a great  city  is  my  dwelling  place,  the 
superficial  life  of  noise  and  haste  shall  teach  me  how 
blessed  a thing  it  is  to  live  within  in  the  company  of 
true  thoughts  and  high  resolves. 

Whatever  can  help  me  to  think  and  love,  whatever 
can  give  me  strength  and  patience,  whatever  can  make 
me  humble  and  serviceable,  though  it  be  a trifle  light 
as  air,  is  opportunity,  whose  whim  it  is  to  hide  in  un- 
considered things,  in  chance  acquaintance  and  casual 
speech,  in  the  falling  of  an  apple,  in  floating  weeds, 
or  the  accidental  explosion  in  a chemist’s  mortar. 

Wisdom  is  habited  in  plainest  garb,  and  she  walks 
modestly,  unheeded  of  the  gaping  and  wondering 
crowd.  She  rules  over  the  kingdom  of  little  things, 
in  which  the  lowly  minded  hold  the  places  of  privilege. 


142 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Her  secrets  are  revealed  to  the  careful,  the  patient,  and 
the  humble.  They  may  be  learned  from  the  ant,  or 
the  flower  that  blooms  in  some  hidden  spot,  or  from 
the  lips  of  husbandmen  and  housewives. 

He  is  wise  who  finds  a teacher  in  every  man,  an  occa- 
sion to  improve  in  every  happening,  for  whom  nothing 
is  useless  or  in  vain.  If  one  whom  he  has  trusted 
proves  false,  he  lays  it  to  the  account  of  his  own 
heedlessness  and  resolves  to  become  more  observant. 
If  men  scorn  him,  he  is  thankful  that  he  need  not 
scorn  himself.  If  they  pass  him  by,  it  is  enough 
for  him  that  truth  and  love  still  remain.  If  he 
is  thrown  with  one  who  bears  himself  with  ease  and 
grace,  or  talks  correctly  in  pleasantly  modulated  tones, 
or  utters  what  can  spring  only  from  a sincere  and  gen- 
erous mind,  — there  is  opportunity.  If  he  chance  to 
find  himself  in  the  company  of  the  rude,  their  vul- 
garity gives  him  a higher  estimate  of  the  worth  of 
breeding  and  behavior. 

The  happiness  and  good  fortune  of  his  fellows  add 
to  his  own.  If  they  are  beautiful  or  wise  or  strong, 
their  beauty,  wisdom,  and  strength  shall  in  some  way 
help  him.  The  merry  voices  of  children  bring  gladness 
to  his  heart ; the  songs  of  birds  wake  melody  there. 

Whoever  anywhere,  in  any  age,  sj>oke  noble  words  or 
performed  heroic  deeds,  spoke  and  wrought  for  him. 
For  him  Moses  led  the  people  forth  from  bondage ; for 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


143 


him  the  three  hundred  perished  at  Thermopylae;  for 
him  Homer  sang ; for  him  Demosthenes  denounced  the 
tyrant;  for  him  Columbus  sailed  the  untraveled  sea; 
for  him  Galileo  gazed  on  the  starry  vault ; for  him  the 
blessed  Saviour  died.  He  knows  that  whatever  dimin- 
ishes his  good  will  to  men,  his  sympathy  with  them, 
even  in  their  blindness  and  waywardness,  makes  him 
poorer,  and  he,  therefore,  finds  means  to  convert  faults 
even  into  opportunities  for  loving  them  more. 

May  we  not  make  the  stars  and  the  mountains  and 
the  all-enduring  earth  minister  to  tranquillity  of  soul, 
to  elevation  of  mind,  and  to  patient  striving?  Have 
not  the  flowers  and  the  human  eye  and  the  look  of 
heaven  when  the  sun  first  appears  or  departs,  power 
to  show  us  that  God  is  beautiful  and  good? 

Shall  not  the  great,  calm  Mother  whose  fair  face, 
despite  the  storms  and  battles  of  all  the  ages,  is  still 
full  of  reposing  strength,  teach  us  the  wisdom  of  brave 
work  without  noise  or  hurry?  It  seems  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  live  in  the  presence  of  nature  and  not  be  cured 
of  vanity  and  conceit.  When  we  see  how  gently  and 
patiently  she  effaces  or  beautifies  all  traces  of  con- 
vulsions, agonies,  defeats,  and  enmities,  we  feel  that 
we  are  able  to  overcome  hate  and  envy  and  all  ignoble 
passions. 

— Rt.  Rev.  John  Lancaster  Spalding. 


144 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


A HERO 

Not  in  the  battle’s  strife, 

With  awful  carnage  rife, 

Our  hero  fell ; 

That  day  on  which  he  bore 
His  dying  leader  o’er 
Green  hillocks  wet  with  gore, 
Spared  him  to  tell 
The  story  of  the  brave 
Who  still  the  flag  would  save ; — 
His  own  death  knell 
Rang  in  a time  of  peace, 
When  friends  and  joys  increase 
And  make  life  dear: 

Ah,  who  could  dream  that  death. 
Amid  fair  summer’s  breath 
Lay  brooding  near ! 

Not  in  the  cannon’s  blaze. 

Or  battle’s  lurid  haze. 

His  spirit  passed: 

Yet  his  the  hero’s  part 

Yea,  his  the  hero’s  heart  — ■ 
Unto  the  last. 

Gentle  and  brave  and  true. 

To  him  is  honor  due ; 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


145 


Low  lies  his  head  — 

Yet  on  his  grave  the  tear 
Will  fall  as  on  his  bier: 

And  manly  hearts  will  pray, 

As  on  that  burial  day, 

In  Christ’s  dear  name  alway, 

“Peace  to  the  dead!” 

— Eliza  Allen  Starr. 

Note.  “That  day  on  which  he  bore.”  When  Col.  James  A. 
Mulligan  of  the  Irish  Brigade  fell  mortally  wounded  on  the  battle- 
field of  Winche.ster,  Virginia,  July  24,  1864,  it  was  his  young  lieu- 
tenant, John  Lanigan,  who  drew  him  to  the  rear,  the  commander’s 
right  arm  around  his  neck.  Of  the  thirty  men  and  officers  about 
the  fallen  leader,  all,  with  the  exception  of  the  lieutenant,  were  either 
killed  or  wounded.  The  fire  was  close  and  deadly,  the  enemy  near 
and  rushing  on.  Loosing  his  enfolding  arm  from  the  young  officer’s 
neck,  the  stricken  chief  exclaimed,  “ Lay  me  down  and  save  the 
flag!” 


Enter  at  once  the  “narrow  path,” 

No  Open,  Sesame  ! it  hath : 

Long  heats  and  burdens  must  you  bear  — 
Wet  are  the  brows  that  laurels  wear ! 

— Pope  Leo  XIII. 


CATH.  READERS.  7tH  YR. 10 


146 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


DESCENT  INTO  THE  MAELSTROM 

We  had  now  reached  the  summit  of  the  loftiest  crag. 
For  some  minutes  the  old  man  seemed  too  much  ex- 
hausted to  speak. 

“ Not  long  ago,”  said  he  at  length,  “and  I could  have 
guided  you  on  this  route  as  well  as  the  youngest  of  my 
sons ; but,  about  three  years  past,  there  happened  to 
me  an  event  such  as  never  happened  before  to  mortal 
man  — or  at  least  such  as  no  man  ever  survived  to 
tell  of  — and  the  six  hours  of  deadly  terror  which  I then 
endured  have  broken  me  up  body  and  soul.  You 
suppose  me  a very  old  man  — but  I am  not.  It  took 
less  than  a single  day  to  change  these  hairs  from  a 
jetty  black  to  white,  to  weaken  my  limbs,  and  to  un- 
string my  nerves,  so  that  I tremble  at  the  least  exertion, 
and  am  frightened  at  a shadow.  Do  you  know  I can 
scarcely  look  over  this  little  cliff  without  getting 
giddy  ? 

“ It  is  now  within  a few  days  of  three  years  since  what 
I am  going  to  tell  you  occurred.  It  was  on  the  tenth  of 
July,  18 — , a day  which  the  people  of  this  part  of  the 
world  will  never  forget  — for  it  was  one  in  which  blew 
the  most  terrible  hurricane  that  ever  came  out  of  the 
heavens.  And  yet  all  the  morning  and  indeed  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a gentle  and  steady 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


147 


breeze  from  the  southwest,  while  the  sun  shone  brightly, 
so  that  the  oldest  seaman  among  us  could  not  have 
foreseen  what  was  to  follow. 

“The  three  of  us  — my  two  brothers  and  myself  — 
had  crossed  over  to  the  islands  about  two  o’clock  p.m., 
and  soon  nearly  loaded  the  smack  with  fine  fish,  which, 
we  all  remarked,  were  more  plenty  that  day  than  we 
had  ever  known  them.  It  was  just  seven,  by  my 
watch,  when  we  weighed  and  started  for  home,  so  as  to 
make  the  worst  of  the  Strom  at  slack  water,  which  we 
knew  would  be  at  eight. 

“We  set  out  with  a fresh  wind  on  our  starboard 
quarter,  and  for  some  time  spanked  along  at  a great 
rate,  never  dreaming  of  danger,  for  indeed  we  saw  not 
the  slightest  reason  to  apprehend  it.  All  at  once  we 
were  taken  aback  by  a breeze  from  over  Helseggen. 
This  was  most  unusual  — something  that  had  never 
happened  to  us  before  — and  I began  to  feel  a little 
uneasy,  without  exactly  knowing  why.  We  put  the 
boat  on  the  wind,  but  could  make  no  headway  at  all 
for  the  eddies,  and  I was  upon  the  point  of  proposing 
to  return  to  the  anchorage,  when,  looking  astern,  we 
saw  the  whole  horizon  covered  with  a singular  copper- 
covered  cloud  that  rose  with  the  most  amazing  velocity. 

“In  the  meantime  the  breeze  that  had  headed  us  off 
fell  away  and  we  were  dead  becalmed,  drifting  about  in 
every  direction.  This  state  of  things,  however,  did 


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not  last  long  enough  to  give  us  time  to  think  about  it. 
In  less  than  a minute  the  storm  was  upon  us  — in  less 
than  two  the  sky  was  entirely  overcast  — and  what  with 
this  and  the  driving  spray,  it  became  suddenly  so  dark 
that  we  could  not  see  each  other  in  the  smack. 

“Such  a hurricane  as  then  blew  it  is  folly  to  attempt 
describing.  The  oldest  seaman  in  Norway  never 
experienced  anything  like  it.  We  had  let  our  sails  go 
by  the  run  before  it  cleverly  took  us ; but,  at  the  first 
puff,  both  of  the  masts  went  by  the  board  as  if  they  had 
been  sawed  off  — the  mainmast  taking  with  it  the 
youngest  brother,  who  had  lashed  himself  to  it  for 
safety. 

“ Our  boat  was  the  lightest  feather  of  a thing  that  had 
ever  sat  upon  water.  It  had  a complete  flush  deck, 
with  only  a small  hatch  near  the  bow,  and  this  hatch  it 
had  always  been  our  custom  to  batten  down  when 
about  to  cross  the  Strom,  by  way  of  precaution  against 
the  chopping  seas.  But  for  this  circumstance  we  should 
have  foundered  at  once  — for  we  lay  entirely  buried 
for  some  moments.  How  my  elder  brother  escaped 
destruction  I cannot  say,  for  I never  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  ascertaining.  For  my  part,  as  soon  as  I had 
let  the  foresail  run,  I threw  myself  flat  on  deck,  with 
my  feet  against  the  narrow  gunwale  of  the  bow,  and 
with  my  hands  grasping  a ringbolt  near  the  foot  of  the 
foremast.  It  was  mere  instinct  that  prompted  me  to 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


149 


do  this  — • which  was  undoubtedly  the  very  best  thing 
I could  have  done  — for  I was  much  too  flurried  to 
think. 

“For  some  moments  we  were  completely  deluged,  as 
I say,  and  all  this  time  I held  my  breath,  and  clung  to 
the  bolt.  When  I could  stand  it  no  longer  I raised  my- 
self upon  my  knees,  still  keeping  hold  with  my  hands, 
and  thus  got  my  head  clear.  Presently  our  little  boat  gave 
herself  a shake,  just  as  a dog  does  in  coming  out  of  the 
water,  and  thus  rid  herself,  in  some  measure,  of  the  seas. 
I was  now  trying  to  get  the  better  of  the  stupor  that 
had  come  over  me,  and  to  collect  my  senses  so  as  to  see 
what  was  to  be  done,  when  I felt  somebody  grasp  my 
arm.  It  was  my  elder  brother,  and  my  heart  leaped  for 
joy,  for  I had  made  sure  that  he  was  overboard  — but 
the  next  moment  all  this  joy  was  turned  into  horror  — 
for  he  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  ear,  and  screamed  out 
the  word  ‘ Moskoe-strom!’ 

“ By  this  time  the  first  fury  of  the  tempest  had  spent 
itself,  or  perhaps  we  did  not  feel  it  so  much,  as  we 
scudded  before  it,  but  at  all  events  the  seas,  which  at 
first  had  been  kept  down  by  the  wind,  and  lay  flat  and 
frothing,  now  got  up  in  absolute  mountains.  A singu- 
lar change,  too,  had  come  over  the  heavens.  Around 
in  every  direction  it  was  still  as  black  as  pitch,  but 
nearly  overhead  there  burst  out,  all  at  once,  a circular 
rift  of  clear  sky  — as  clear  as  I ever  saw  — and  of  a 


150 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


deep  bright  blue  — and  through  it  there  blazed  forth 
the  full  moon  with  a luster  that  I never  before  knew  her 
to  wear.  She  lit  up  everything  about  us  with  the 
greatest  distinctness  — but,  oh  God,  what  a scene  it 
was  to  light  up  ! 

“I  now  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  speak  to  my 
brother  — but  in  some  manner  which  I could  not  under- 
stand, the  din  had  so  increased  that  I could  not  make 
him  hear  a single  word,  although  I screamed  at  the  top 
of  my  voice  in  his  ear.  Presently  he  shook  his  head, 
looking  as  pale  as  death,  and  held  up  one  of  his  fingers, 
as  if  to  say  ^listen!' 

“At  first  I could  not  make  out  what  he  meant  — but 
soon  a hideous  thought  flashed  upon  me.  I dragged 
my  watch  from  its  fob.  It  was  not  going.  I glanced 
at  its  face  by  the  moonlight,  and  then  burst  in  tears  as 
I flung  it  far  away  in  the  ocean.  It  had  run  down  at 
seven  o’clock.  We  were  behind  the  time  of  the  slack,  and 
the  whirl  of  the  Strom  was  in  full  fury ! 

“It  could  not  have  been  more  than  two  minutes 
afterwards  until  we  suddenly  felt  the  waves  subdue, 
and  were  enveloped  in  foam.  The  l)oat  made  a sharp 
half  turn  to  larboard,  and  then  shot  off  in  its  new 
direction  like  a thunderbolt.  At  the  same  moment 
the  roaring  noise  of  the  water  was  completely  drowned 
in  a kind  of  shrill  shriek  — such  a sound  as  you  might 
imagine  given  out  by  the  water  pipes  of  many  thousand 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


151 


steam  vessels  letting  off  their  steam  all  together.  We 
were  now  in  the  belt  of  surf  that  always  surrounds  the 
whirl ; and  I thought,  of  course,  that  another  moment 
would  plunge  us  into  the  abyss,  down  which  we  could 
only  see  indistinctly  on  account  of  the  amazing  velocity 
with  which  we  were  borne  along.  The  boat  did  not 
seem  to  sink  into  the  water  at  all,  but  to  skim  like  an 
air-bubble  upon  the  surface  of  the  surge.  Her  star- 
board side  was  next  the  whirl,  and  on  the  larlioard 
arose  the  world  of  ocean  we  had  left.  It  stood  like  a 
huge  writhing  wall  between  us  and  the  horizon. 

“It  may  appear  strange,  but  now,  when  we  were  in 
the  very  jaws  of  the  gulf,  I felt  more  composed  than 
when  we  were  only  approaching  it.  Having  made  up 
my  mind  to  hope  no  more,  I got  rid  of  a great  deal  of 
that  terror  which  unmanned  me  at  first.  I supposed 
it  was  despair  that  strung  my  nerves. 

“There  was  another  circumstance  which  tended  to 
restore  my  self-possession ; and  this  was  the  cessation 
of  the  wind,  which  could  not  reach  us  in  our  present 
situation  — for,  as  you  saw  for  yourself,  the  belt  of 
the  surf  is  considerably  lower  than  the  general  bed  of 
the  ocean,  and  this  latter  now  towered  above  us,  a high, 
Idack,  mountainous  ridge.  If  you  have  never  been  at 
sea  in  a heavy  gale,  you  can  form  no  idea  of  the  con- 
fusion of  mind  occasioned  by  the  wind  and  spray  to- 
gether. They  blind,  deafen,  and  strangle  you,  and 


152 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


take  away  all  power  of  action  or  reflection.  But  we 
were  now,  in  a great  measure,  rid  of  these  annoyances 
— just  as  death-condemned  felons  in  prison  are  allowed 
petty  indulgences,  forbidden  them  while  their  doom  is 
yet  uncertain. 

“How  often  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  belt  it  is  im- 
possible to  say.  We  careered  round  and  round  for 
perhaps  an  hour,  flying  rather  than  floating,  getting 
gradually  more  and  more  into  the  middle  of  the  surge, 
and  then  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  horrible  inner  edge. 
All  this  time  I had  never  let  go  of  the  ringbolt.  My 
brother  was  at  the  stern,  holding  on  to  a small  empty 
water-cask  which  had  been  securely  lashed  under  the 
Coop  of  the  counter,  and  was  the  only  thing  on  deck 
that  had  not  been  swept  overboard  when  the  gale  first 
took  us.  As  we  approached  the  brink  of  the  pit  he 
let  go  his  hold  upon  this  and  made  for  the  ring  from 
which,  in  the  agony  of  his  terror,  he  endeavored  to 
force  my  hands,  as  it  was  not  large  enough  to  afford  us 
both  a secure  grasp.  I never  felt  deeper  grief  than  when 
I saw  him  attempt  this  act  — although  I knew  he  was  a 
madman  when  he  did  it  — a raving  maniac  through 
sheer  fright.  I did  not  care,  however,  to  contest  the 
point  with  him.  I knew  it  could  make  no  difference 
whether  either  of  us  held  on  at  all ; so  I let  him  have  the 
bolt,  and  went  astern  to  the  cask.  This  there  was  no 
great  difficulty  in  doing;  for  the  smack  flew  round 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


153 


steadily  enough,  and  upon  an  even  keel  — only  swaying 
to  and  fro  with  the  immense  sweeps  and  swelters  of  the 
whirl.  Scarcely  had  I secured  myself  in  my  new  posi- 
tion, when  we  gave  a wild  lurch  to  starboard,  and  rushed 
headlong  into  the  abyss.  I muttered  a hurried  prayer 
to  God,  and  thought  all  was  over. 

“As  I felt  the  sickening  sweep  of  the  descent,  I had 
instinctively  tightened  my  hold  upon  the  barrel,  and 
closed  my  eyes.  For  some  seconds  I dared  not  open 
them  — while  I expected  instant  destruction,  and 
wondered  that  I was  not  already  in  my  death-struggles 
with  the  water.  But  moment  after  moment  elapsed. 
I still  lived.  The  sense  of  falling  had  ceased ; and  the 
motion  of  the  vessel  seemed  much  as  it  had  been  before, 
while  in  the  belt  of  foam,  with  the  exception  that  she 
now  lay  more  along.  I took  courage  and  looked  once 
again  upon  the  scene. 

“Never  shall  I forget  the  sensation  of  awe,  horror, 
and  admiration  with  which  I gazed  about  me.  The 
boat  appeared  to  be  hanging,  as  if  by  magic,  midway 
down,  upon  the  interior  surface  of  a funnel  vast  in 
circumference,  prodigious  in  depth,  and  whose  per- 
fectly smooth  sides  might  have  been  mistaken  for 
ebony,  but  for  the  bewildering  rapidity  with  which  they 
spun  around,  and  for  the  gleaming  and  ghastly  radiance 
they  shot  forth,  as  the  rays  of  the  full  moon,  from  that 
circular  rift  amid  clouds  which  I have  already  de- 


154 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


scribed,  streamed  in  a flood  of  golden  glory  along  the 
black  walls,  and  far  away  down  into  the  inmost  recesses 
of  the  abyss. 

“At  first  I was  too  much  confused  to  observe  any- 
thing accurately.  The  general  burst  of  terrific  gran- 
deur was  all  that  I beheld.  When  I recovered  myself 
a little,  however,  my  gaze  fell  instinctively  downward. 
In  this  direction  I was  able  to  obtain  an  unobstructed 
view,  from  the  manner  in  which  the  smack  hung  on  the 
inclined  surface  of  the  pool.  She  was  quite  upon  an 
even  keel  — that  is  to  say,  her  deck  lay  in  a plane  par- 
allel with  that  of  the  water  — but  this  latter  sloped 
at  an  angle  of  more  than  forty-five  degrees,  so  that  we 
seemed  to  be  lying  upon  our  beam-ends.  I could  not 
help  observing,  nevertheless,  that  I had  scarcely  more 
difficulty  in  maintaining  my  hold  and  footing  in  this 
situation,  than  if  we  had  been  upon  a dead  level ; and 
this,  I suppose,  was  owing  to  the  speed  at  which  we 
revolved. 

“The  rays  of  the  moon  seemed  to  search  the  very 
bottom  of  the  profound  gulf ; but  still  I could  make 
out  nothing  distinctly  on  account  of  a thick  mist  in 
which  everything  there  was  enveloped,  and  over 
which  there  hung  a magnificent  rainbow,  like  that  nar- 
row and  tottering  bridge  which  Mussulmans  say  is  the 
only  pathway  between  Time  and  Eternity.  This 
mist,  or  spray,  was  no  doubt  occasioned  by  the  clashing 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


155 


of  the  great  walls  of  the  funnel,  as  they  all  met  together 
at  the  bottom  — but  the  yell  that  went  up  to  the 
Heavens  from  out  of  that  mist  I dare  not  attempt  to 
describe. 

“Our  first  slide  into  the  abyss  itself,  from  the  belt 
of  foam  above,  had  carried  us  to  a great  distance  down 
the  slope;  but  our  farther  descent  was  by  no  means 
proportionate.  Round  and  round  we  swept  — • not 
with  any  uniform  movement  — but  in  dizzying  swings 
and  jerks,  that  sent  us  sometimes  only  a few  hundred 
yards  — sometimes  nearly  the  complete  circuit  of  the 
whirl.  Our  progress  downward,  at  each  revolution, 
was  slow,  but  very  perceptible. 

“Looking  about  me  upon  the  wide  waste  of  liquid 
ebony  on  which  we  were  thus  borne,  I perceived  that 
our  boat  was  not  the  only  object  in  the  embrace  of  the 
whirl.  Both  above  and  below  us  were  visible  frag- 
ments of  vessels,  large  masses  of  building  timber  and 
trunks  of  trees,  with  many  smaller  articles,  such  as 
pieces  of  house  furniture,  broken  boxes,  barrels  and 
staves.  I have  already  described  the  unnatural  curios- 
ity which  had  taken  the  place  of  my  original  terrors. 
It  appeared  to  grow  upon  me  as  I drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  my  dreadful  doom.  I now  began  to  watch, 
with  a strange  interest,  the  numerous  things  that  floated 
in  our  company.  I must  have  been  delirious,  for  I even 
sought  amusement  in  speculating  upon  the  relative 


156 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


velocities  of  their  several  descents  toward  the  foam 
below.  ‘This  fir-tree,’  I found  myself  at  one  time 
saying,  ‘ will  certainly  be  the  next  thing  that  takes  the 
awful  plunge  and  disappears,’  — and  then  I was  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  the  wreck  of  a Dutch  merchant 
ship  overtook  it  and  went  down  before.  At  length, 
after  making  several  guesses  of  this  nature,  and  being 
deceived  in  all  — this  fact  — the  fact  of  my  invariable 
miscalculation,  set  me  upon  a train  of  reflection  that 
made  my  limbs  again  tremble,  and  my  heart  beat 
heavily  once  more. 

“It  was  not  a new  terror  that  thus  affected  me,  but 
the  dawn  of  a more  exciting  hope.  This  hope  arose 
partly  from  memory,  and  partly  from  present  obser- 
vation. I called  to  mind  the  great  variety  of  buoyant 
matter  that  strewed  the  coast  of  Lofoden,  having  been 
absorbed  and  then  thrown  forth  by  the  Moskoe-strbm. 
By  far  the  greater  number  of  the  articles  were  shattered 
in  the  most  extraordinary  way  — so  chafed  and  rough- 
ened as  to  have  the  appearance  of  being  stuck  full  of 
splinters  — but  then  I distinctly  recollected  that  there 
were  some  of  them  which  were  not  disfigured  at  all. 
Now  I could  not  account  for  this  difference  except  by 
supposing  that  the  roughened  fragments  were  the  only 
ones  which  had  been  completely  absorbed  — that  the 
others  had  entered  the  whirl  at  so  late  a period  of  the 
tide,  or,  from  some  reason,  had  descended  so  slowly 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


157 


after  entering,  that  they  did  not  reach  the  bottom  be- 
fore the  turn  of  the  flood  came,  or  the  ebb,  as  the  case 
might  be.  I conceived  it  possible,  in  either  instance, 
that  they  might  thus  be  whirled  up  again  to  the  level 
of  the  ocean,  without  undergoing  the  fate  of  those  which 
had  been  drawn  in  more  early  or  absorbed  more  rapidly. 
I made,  also,  three  important  observations.  The  first 
was,  that  as  a general  rule,  the  larger  the  bodies  were, 
the  more  rapid  their  descent  — the  second,  that,  be- 
tween two  masses  of  equal  extent,  the  one  spherical, 
and  the  other  of  any  other  shape,  the  superiority  in 
speed  of  descent  was  with  the  sphere  — the  third,  that, 
between  two  masses  of  equal  size,  the  one  cylindrical, 
and  the  other  of  any  other  shape,  the  cylinder  was 
absorbed  the  more  slowly.  Since  my  escape,  I have 
had  several  conversations  on  this  subject  with  an  old 
schoolmaster  of  the  district;  and  it  was  from  him 
that  I learned  the  use  of  the  words  'cylinder’  and 
'sphere.’  He  explained  to  me  — although  I have  for- 
gotten the  explanation  — how  what  I observed  was,  in 
fact,  the  natural  consequence  of  the  forms  of  the  floating 
fragments  — and  showed  me  how  it  happened  that  a 
cylinder,  swimming  in  a vortex,  offered  more  resistance 
to  its  suction,  and  was  drawn  in  with  greater  difficulty 
than  an  equally  bulky  body,  of  any  form  whatever.^ 
"There  was  one  startling  circumstance  which  went  a 
* See  Archimedes,  “ De  Incidentibus  in  Fluids,"  lib.  2. 


158 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


great  way  in  enforcing  these  observations  and  render- 
ing me  anxious  to  turn  them  to  account,  and  this  was 
that,  at  every  revolution,  we  passed  something  like  a 
barrel,  or  else  the  yard  or  the  mast  of  a vessel,  while 
many  of  these  things,  which  had  been  on  our  level  when 
I first  opened  my  eyes  upon  the  wonders  of  the  whirl- 
pool, were  now  high  up  above  us,  and  seemed  to  have 
moved  but  little  from  their  original  station. 

“I  no  longer  hesitated  what  to  do.  I resolved  to 
lash  myself  securely  to  the  water  cask  upon  which  I now 
held,  to  cut  it  loose  from  the  counter,  and  to  throw  my- 
self with  it  into  the  water.  I attracted  my  brother’s 
attention  by  signs,  pointed  to  the  floating  barrels  that 
came  near  us,  and  did  everything  in  my  power  to  make 
him  understand  what  I was  about  to  do.  I thought  at 
length  that  he  comprehended  my  design  — but,  whether 
this  was  the  case  or  not,  he  shook  his  head  despairingly, 
and  refused  to  move  from  his  station  by  the  ringbolt. 
It  was  impossible  to  reach  him ; the  emergency  ad- 
mitted of  no  delay ; and  so,  with  a bitter  struggle,  I 
resigned  him  to  his  fate,  fastened  myself  to  the  cask  by 
means  of  the  lashings  which  secured  it  to  the  counter, 
and  precipitated  myself  with  it  into  the  sea. 

“The  result  was  precisely  what  I had  hoped  it  might 
be.  As  it  is  myself  who  now  tell  you  this  tale  — as  you 
see  that  I did  escape  — and  as  you  ai’e  already  in  pos- 
session of  the  mode  in  which  this  escape  was  effected. 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


159 


and  must  therefore  anticipate  all  that  I have  further  to 
say  — I will  bring  my  story  quickly  to  conclusion.  It 
might  have  been  an  hour,  or  thereabout,  after  my 
quitting  the  smack,  when,  having  descended  to  a vast 
distance  beneath  me,  it  made  three  or  four  wild  gyra- 
tions in  rapid  succession,  and,  bearing  my  loved  brother 
with  it,  plunged  headlong,  at  once  and  forever,  into  the 
chaos  of  foam  below.  The  barrel  to  which  I was  at- 
tached sank  very  little  farther  than  half  the  distance 
between  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  and  the  spot  at  which  I 
leaped  overboard,  before  a great  change  took  place  in 
the  character  of  the  whirlpool.  The  slope  of  the  sides 
of  the  vast  funnel  became  momently  less  and  less  steep. 
The  gyrations  of  the  whirl  grew,  gradually,  less  and  less 
violent.  By  degrees,  the  froth  and  the  rainbow  dis- 
appeared, and  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  seemed  slowly  to 
uprise.  The  sky  was  clear,  the  winds  had  gone  down, 
and  the  full  moon  was  setting  radiantly  in  the  west, 
when  I found  myself  in  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  in  full 
view  of  the  shores  of  Lofoden,  and  above  the  spot  where 
the  pool  of  the  Moskoe-strom  had  been.  It  was  the 
hour  of  the  slack  — but  the  sea  still  heaved  in  moun- 
tainous waves  from  the  effects  of  the  hurricane.  I was 
borne  violently  into  the  channel  of  the  Strom,  and  in  a 
few  minutes,  was  hurried  down  the  coast  into  the 
‘grounds’  of  the  fishermen.  A boat  picked  me  up.” 

— Edgar  Allan  Poe. 


100 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


POPE  LEO  XIII 

Quite  to  the  north  of  what  we  call  the  central  part 
of  Italy,  in  among  the  hills  and  mountains,  hangs  the 
old  town  of  Carpineto.  Built  on  the  rocks  and  sur- 
rounded by  scenery  wild  and  rugged  the  little  town 
looks  down  upon  the  valley  below.  Carpineto  like 
all  other  towns  has  its  history,  and,  if  we  stop  for  a 
a moment,  we  may  read.  Here  we  find  many  poorly 
built  houses  which  tell  their  own  story  and  here  we 
find  the  remains  of  palaces  built  long  ago  which  take 
the  traveler  back  to  times  when  those  of  wealth  and 
noble  birth  held  sway. 

The  Pecci  belonged  to  the  nobility  and  it  was  in  the 
Pecci  palace,  March,  1810,  that  the  little  Joachim  Vin- 
cent Pecci  was  born.  He,  who  was  later  to  become 
one  of  the  greatest  men  the  world  has  ever  known, 
was  the  youngest  child  of  a family  of  six.  Little  Vin- 
cent, for  this  was  the  name  by  which  he  was  called 
while  his  mother  lived,  had  much  in  his  favor  through- 
out his  whole  career.  He  came  into  the  world  with 
good  and  noble  blood,  with  a great  mind  which  needed 
little  except  proper  nourishment  and  with  a will  even 
in  his  youth  for  seeing  and  doing  which  has  seldom  been 
equaled. 

Count  and  Countess  Pecci  belonged  to  influential  and 
noble  families  of  many  years’  standing.  Both  families 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


161 


had  held  high  positions.  The  lives  of  Count  and 
Countess  Pecci  were  pure,  noble,  and  inspiring.  They 
lived  for  their  children  and  that  their  children  might 
serve  God  was  their  one  ambition. 

Little  Vincent  and  his  brother  were  taught  by  their 
mother  until  Vincent  was  eight  and  his  brother  ten, 
when  they  were  sent  away  to  school.  In  the  Jesuit 
school  at  Viterbo  in  the  fall  of  1818  the  little  boys 
■ began  their  long  and  careful  training.  Here  they  re- 
mained until  1824. 

Vincent  Pecci  was  a remarkable  student  and  while 
in  school  wrote  Latin  verse  of  much  merit.  He  was 
known  to  the  teachers  of  the  school  of  Viterbo  as  one 
of  the  brightest  and  most  exact  students  they  had  ever 
known. 

The  last  year  at  Viterbo  was  a sad  one,  for  in  this 
year  the  Pecci  children  lost  a loving  and  tender  mother. 
Later  Joachim,  for  Vincent  now  changed  his  name  in 
hopor  of  his  much  loved  mother  to  Joachim,  entered  the 
Roman  College  at  Rome.  Here  he  proved  himself  as 
great  a master  of  his  studies  as  he  had  heretofore  at 
Viterbo,  and  won  for  himself  all  the  honors  such  a school 
could  bestow. 

Ordained  a priest  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  he  imme- 
diately became  attached  to  the  Vatican,  where  he  had  a 
training  that  was  to  be  of  use  to  him  in  future  years. 

Pecci  was  appointed  delegate  to  the  province  of  Bene- 

CATH.  READERS.  7tII  YR. 11 


162 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


vento  and  later  delegate  to  the  province  of  Perugia. 
In  both  of  these  provinces  he  had  to  deal  with  crimi- 
nals, and  crimes  of  all  kinds.  He  was  equal  to  the 
work  assigned  him. 

It  is  said  that  the  king  of  Naples  openly  praised  him 
for  his  success  in  restoring  order,  and  that  the  town 
of  Perugia  was  ever  grateful  for  his  treatment  of  the 
people  of  all  classes.  Monsignor  Pecci  threw  open  his 
home  to  every  citizen  and  in  the  most  friendly  man- 
ner received  all  who  came.  He  visited  the  prisons. 
He  visited  the  shops.  Once  upon  hearing  of  a dis- 
honest baker  he  visited  all  the  bakeries.  He  examined 
the  bread  and  when  he  found  the  loaves  under  weight 
he  ordered  his  officers  to  give  them  to  the  poor. 

At  the  age  of  only  thirty-three  he  was  made  arch- 
bishop and  was  sent  to  represent  the  Pope  at  the  Court 
of  Brussels.  Here  he  displayed  the  same  interest  and 
influence  in  all  that  concerned  the  people,  and  won  the 
respect  of  the  king,  who  invited  him  often  to  visit  the 
court  as  friend  and  counselor. 

In  the  meantime  the  bishop  of  Perugia  died  and  the 
people,  remembering  the  wise  delegate  Pecci,  asked  at 
once  for  his  return  as  their  bishop.  Their  request  was 
granted.  The  Pope  foresaw  Archbishop  Pecci’s  worth 
in  a country  like  Perugia,  for  the  air  was  filled  at  this 
time  with  all  the  signs  of  a fearful  revolutionary  storm 
which  was  likely  to  burst  at  any  moment  upon  the 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


163 


Papal  States.  Of  this  storm  Perugia  was  one  of  the 
centers. 

While  acting  as  bishop  of  Perugia  with  the  title  of 
archbishop,  the  much  loved  and  esteemed  bishop  was 
made  cardinal. 

In  1878  Cardinal  Pecci  was  called  to  the  bedside  of 
Pope  Pius  IX.  When  this  great  Pontiff’s  soul  had 
taken  flight  Cardinal  Pecci  took  charge  of  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  Conclave. 

This  Conclave  was  for  the  purpose  of  choosing  a new 
Pope.  Three  ballots  were  taken.  Imagine  the  sur- 
prise and  fear  that  fell  upon  Cardinal  Pecci  when  he 
received  twenty-three  votes  upon  the  first  ballot.  The 
third  ballot  gave  him  forty-four  votes  out  of  sixty-one. 
The  question  was  asked  him,  “By  what  name  do  you 
wish  to  be  called?”  Bowing  to  the  Divine  Will  he 
answered,  “By  the  name  of  Leo  XIII.” 

Leo  XIII,  possessed  of  great  learning,  great  political 
skill,  and  great  financial  ability,  now  set  out  not  only 
to  strengthen  the  Church  but  so  to  act  that  the  whole 
world  would  be  made  better. 

People  who  are  not  in  sympathy  with  the  teachings 
of  the  Catholic  Church  admit  that  Leo  was  just,  was 
the  entreator  of  peace,  and  was  one  of  the  century’s 
greatest  statesmen. 

Only  the  little  in  mind  and  the  ignorant  are  bigots. 
Leo  XIII  was  large  minded  in  every  sense.  Never  did 


1G4 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


he  forget  that  not  only  individuals,  but  countries 
have  rights  of  their  own.  When  he  was  called  upon 
to  settle  the  dispute,  in  1885,  which  arose  between 
Catholic  Spain  and  Protestant  Germany  over  the  Car- 
oline Islands,  he  decided  quickly  in  favor  of  Protestant 
Germany  because  right  and  justice  were  hers. 

Leo  XIII  was  a scholar  and  a writer.  The  composi- 
tion of  Latin  poetry  was  one  of  his  favorite  relaxa- 
tions. He  was  much  interested  in  science  and  art, 
and  admitted  all  properly  qualified  scholars  to  the 
Vatican  archives,  expressing  the  conviction  that  the 
study  of  history  would  strengthen  the  Church. 

Plis  life  was  of  the  simplest,  most  abstemious 
description ; and  this  doubtless  had  much  to  do  with 
prolonging  it  to  the  ripe  and  unusual  age  of  ninety- 
three.  When  he  died,  in  1903,  he  was  mourned  and 
honored  not  only  by  those  of  the  Catholic  faith,  but 
by  all  persons  throughout  the  world  who  had  learned 
of  his  good  works  and  the  nobility  of  his  fife. 


From  torrid  South  to  frozen  North, 

The  wave  harmonious  stretches  forth. 

Yet  strikes  no  chord  more  true  to  Rome’s 
Than  rings  within  our  hearts  and  homes,  — 

“ God  bless  our  Pope,  the  great,  the  good ! ” 

— Cardinal  Wiseman. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


165 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  CAMPANILE 

The  Campanile  was  the  most  famous  bell  tower  in 
Venice.  It  was  a square  shaft  built  of  brick,  forty 
feet  square  at  the  base,  and  it  rose  to  the  height  of 
three  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet.  Graceful  in  its 
architectural  lines,  its  soft  tones  of  reddish  yellow  aided 
in  harmonizing  it  so  perfectly  with  its  environment 
that  without  it  the  beauty  of  the  Piazza  seems  almost 
destroyed.  It  was  begun  888  a.d.,  restored  in  1329, 
provided  with  its  open  lantern  and  pyramidal  roof  in 
1417,  and  crowned  with  its  gilt  bronze  angel,  sixteen 
feet  high,  in  1517.  It  saw  the  rise,  if  not  the  birth,  of 
Venice,  the  most  famous  of  mediaeval  republics;  its 
glories,  and  its  decline;  its  extinction  by  that  other 
republic  which  had  already  felt  the  strong  hand  of 
the)  Corsican ; its  days  of  Austrian  domination,  and  its 
final  return  to  united  Italy. 

We  are  told  that  in  the  old  days  there  were  four  bells 
rung  from  the  tower  for  different  purposes.  The  first 
sounded  at  dawn  to  call  the  laboring  classes  to  their 
work ; the  second  announced  the  opening  of  the  official 
bureau ; the  third  called  the  councilors  to  their  duties ; 
and  the  fourth,  called  the  bell  of  the  malefactors,  was 
the  knell  that  tolled  during  executions.  About  1670 
a fifth  great  bell  was  brought  from  Candia,  which  was 


166 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


heard  only  on  Ascension  Day,  when  the  Doge  espoused 
the  Adriatic. 

Monday  morning,  July  the  fourteenth,  1902,  was 
bright  and  clear,  — warm  in  the  Italian  sunshine,  but 
fresh  with  the  pure  southwest  breeze  drawing  up  over 
the  lagoons.  As  we  were  finishing  our  breakfast  of 
cherries,  coffee,  rolls,  and  honey,  some  one  told  us  of 
an  ominous  crack  in  the  side  of  the  Campanile  and  the 
fears  expressed  in  the  morning  newspaper  that  its 
condition  was  serious. 

“Come,”  I said  to  m.y  little  daughter,  “let  us  go 
round  to  the  Piazza  and  look  at  it.” 

So  we  set  off  at  once,  passing  through  the  narrow 
alleys  back  of  the  hotels,  over  the  bridge,  past  San 
Moise,  and  so  through  a narrow  street  of  shops  to  the 
archway  at  the  southwestern  angle  of  the  Piazza. 
Advancing  up  the  square  towards  the  Campanile,  we 
found  a space  around  its  base  had  been  roughly  fenced 
off  by  a railing  of  planks,  and  looking  up,  saw  a wide 
crack  in  the  brick  work  of  the  tower,  starting  just  over 
the  roof  and  extending  vertically  upwards  six  stories 
in  height. 

The  impression  it  gave  me  was  a sense  of  the  necessity 
of  taking  down  and  rebuilding  that  entire  angle  of  the 
tower.  The  idea  that  the  tower  itself  would  fall  never 
occurred  to  me.  Standing  where  I could  view  it  plainly, 
I sketched  in  my  note-book  the  tower  and  the  fatal 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


167 


The  Campanile. 


168 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


crack,  as  it  stretched  up  the  side,  breaking  througii  the 
sill  and  caps  of  a window,  just  missing  the  window 
above  it,  and  so  on  until  it  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  a 
number  of  small  fissures  near  the  top. 

My  daughter  said,  “Please  let  me  feed  the  pigeons,” 
and  by  way  of  answer  I gave  her  some  coppers  to  buy 
corn  for  the  purpose.  Fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  later 
my  little  girl  was  still  feeding  the  pigeons  in  the  center 
of  the  square,  — as  I recollect  she  was  the  only  person 
in  the  Piazza  outside  the  arcades.  As  I walked  over  to 
her  the  tame  pigeons  fluttered  away  from  her  shoulders, 
where  they  had  perched  to  peck  the  corn,  then  we  went 
to  take  another  look  at  that  crack.  I noticed  that 
the  rails  around  the  base  of  the  tower  had  been  spread 
out  much  farther  to  take  in  a larger  space  at  its  foot. 

A sense  of  uneasiness  filled  me,  there  seemed  to  be 
“something  in  the  air”  — something  unusual,  a strange- 
ness in  the  deserted  look  of  the  Piazza  and  its  unwonted 
quiet.  It  was  the  hush  before  the  tragedy,  though  I 
did  not  then  realize  its  meaning.  After  gazing  a few 
moments  at  the  Campanile  we  turned  and  walked  to- 
gether for  a few  paces  down  the  arcades  on  the  north 
side  of  the  Piazza  and  then  — ! 

A crashing,  tearing,  rending  din  in  the  air  above  me, 
a noise  as  I conceive  an  avalanche  of  rocks  and  stones 
would  make  pouring  over  some  precipice,  a wild  yeU 
of  human  voices  suddenly  drowned  in  the  overpowering 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


169 


roar  of  falling  matter ! One  quick  glance  upward,  and 
I saw  the  whole  Campanile  breaking  and  splitting  into 
fragments  from  top  to  bottom.  One  immense  piece, 
surely  a hundred  feet  long,  cracked  off  the  injured  side 
and  dropped  vertically  downwards.  The  pointed  top, 
unsupported  at  that  angle,  bent  over  a little  as  if  bow- 
ing in  a breeze.  Down  came  the  whole  proud  tower, 
like  a house  of  cards  or  children’s  blocks,  but  with  a 
noise  and  din  that  was  appalling,  and  that  rings  in  the 
ears  of  memory  even  yet. 

That  first  glance  showed  me  that  the  tower  was 
collapsing,  that  is,  dropping  downward ; it  was  not  top- 
pling to  one  side.  Fearing  that  we  might  be  struck  by 
falling  bricks,  I pushed  my  daughter  ahead  of  me,  and 
hastened  across  the  pavement  to  take  refuge  in  the 
open  doorway  of  a picture  shop.  In  an  instant  we 
were  enveloped  in  a dense,  black  cloud  of  blinding  dust, 
so  thick  that  one  could  scarcely  see  three  feet  ahead. 

We  both  stood  quietly  waiting.  A young  man  in  the 
shop  behind  the  counter  turned  his  back  to  the  Piazza 
and  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  with  clasped  hands  uplifted, 
prayed  audibly,  shivering  from  head  to  foot  as  if  afflicted 
with  ague.  His  terror  was  so  pitiable  that  it  aroused 
my  little  girl’s  sympathy  and  she  repeated  to  him  again 
and  again,  “Va  bene!”  “Va  bene!”  — meaning  all 
right  — the  only  Italian  phrase  she  could  think  of. 
Then  all  was  still.  A profound  silence  succeeded  the 


170 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


“wreck  of  matter  and  the  crash  of  worlds.”  The  dust 
no  longer  whirled  around  us,  but  hung  like  a cloud  and 
seemed  gradually  settling  to  the  ground  and  growing 
lighter,  as  indeed  it  was. 

Five  minutes  or  more  we  waited,  and  then  we 
could  see  dimly.  Soon  the  outlines  of  the  surrounding 
buildings  were  visible  through  a haze.  But  alas ! not 
the  Campanile,  for  it  lay  a mass  of  shapeless  ruin. 
We  were  the  first  to  cross  the  Piazza,  and  it  was  like 
walking  over  a field  after  a light  fall  of  snow,  for  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  of  white  dust  covered  the  pavement, 
and  one’s  feet  left  distinct  tracks  as  in  snow. 

As  we  emerged  from  the  Piazza,  dusty  and  whitened 
like  millers,  we  found  groups  of  excited  people  just 
beginning  to  recover  their  presence  of  mind,  and  as  we 
drew  near  to  the  hotel  we  began  to  meet  people  rushing 
towards  the  Piazza,  who,  noting  our  appearance,  briefly 
questioned  us  and  then  hurried  to  view  the  ruins. 

I left  Venice  the  next  day  but  one,  carrying  with 
me  a remembrance  that  will  last  a lifetime.  With 
the  impression  of  its  beautiful  colors,  its  picturesque 
buildings,  canals,  bridges,  and  churches,  and  innumer- 
able enchanting  objects  great  and  small,  I shall  always 
have  in  my  memory  the  vision  of  that  great  tower, 
cracking,  crumbling,  sinking  awfully  but  majestically 
to  the  ground,  a catastrophe  of  grandeur. 

— Henry  Whiteley. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


171 


THE  HORIZON 

To  mount  a hill  is  to  lift  with  you  something  lighter 
and  brighter  than  yourself  or  than  any  meaner  bur- 
den. You  lift  the  world,  you  raise  the  horizon;  you 
give  a signal  for  the  distance  to  stand  up.  It  is  like 
the  scene  in  the  Vatican  when  a cardinal,  with  his 
dramatic  Italian  hands,  bids  the  kneeling  groups  to 
arise.  He  does  more  than  bid  them.  He  lifts  them, 
he  gathers  them  up,  far  and  near,  with  the  upward 
gesture  of  both  arms;  he  takes  them  to  their  feet 
with  the  compulsion  of  his  expressive  force.  Or  it 
is  as  when  a conductor  takes  his  players  to  successive 
heights  of  music.  You  summon  the  sea,  you  bring 
the  mountains,  the  distances  unfold  unlooked-for 
wings  and  take  an  even  flight.  You  are  but  a man 
lifting  his  weight  upon  the  upward  road;  but  as  you 
climb,  the  circle  of  the  world  goes  up  to  face  you. 

Not  here  or  there,  but  with  a definite  continuity, 
the  unseen  unfolds.  This  distant  hill  outsoars  that 
less  distant,  but  all  are  on  the  wing,  and  the  plain 
raises  its  verge.  All  things  follow  and  wait  upon  your 
eyes.  You  lift  these  up,  not  by  the  raising  of  your 
eyelids,  but  by  the  pilgrimage  of  your  body.  “Lift 
thine  eyes  to  the  mountains.”  It  is  then  that  the 
mountains  lift  themselves  to  your  human  eyes. 

It  is  the  law  whereby  the  eye  and  the  horizon  an- 


172 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


swer  one  another  that  makes  the  way  up  hill  so  full 
of  universal  movement.  All  the  landscape  is  on  pil- 
grimage. The  town  gathers  itself  closer,  and  its  inner 
harbors  literally  come  to  light;  the  headlands  repeat 
themselves;  little  cups  within  the  treeless  hills  open 
and  show  their  farms.  In  the  sea  are  many  regions. 
A breeze  is  at  play  for  a mile  or  two,  and  the  surface 
is  turned.  There  are  roads  and  curves  in  the  blue  and 
in  the  white.  Not  a step  of  your  journey  up  the  height 
that  has  not  its  replies  in  the  steady  motion  of  land 
and  sea.  Things  rise  together  like  a flock  of  many- 
feathered  birds. 

But  it  is  the  horizon,  more  than  all  else,  you  have 
come  in  search  of.  That  is  your  chief  companion  on 
your  way.  It  is  to  uplift  the  horizon  to  the  equality  of 
your  sight  that  you  go  high.  You  give  it  a distance 
worthy  of  the  skies.  There  is  no  distance,  except  the 
distance  in  the  sky,  to  be  seen  from  the  level  earth; 
but  from  the  height  is  to  be  seen  the  distance  of  this 
world.  The  line  is  sent  back  into  the  remoteness  of 
light,  the  verge  is  removed  beyond  verge,  into  a dis- 
tance that  is  enormous  and  minute. 

So  delicate  and  so  slender  is  the  distant  horizon  that 
nothing  less  near  than  Queen  Mab  and  her  chariot  can 
equal  its  fineness.  Here  on  the  edges  of  the  eyelids, 
or  there  on  the  edges  of  the  world  — we  know  no  other 
place  for  things  so  exquisitely  made,  so  thin,  so  small 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


173 


and  tender.  The  touches  of  her  passing,  as  close  as 
dreams,  or  the  utmost  vanishing  of  the  forest  or  the 
ocean  in  the  white  light  between  the  earth  and  the 
air;  nothing  else  is  quite  so  intimate  and  fine.  The 
extremities  of  a mountain  view  have  just  such  tiny 
touches  as  the  closeness  of  closed  eyes  shuts  in. 

On  the  horizon  is  the  sweetest  light.  Elsewhere 
color  mars  the  simplicity  of  light;  but  there  color  is 
effaced,  not  as  men  efface  it,  by  a blur  or  darkness,  but 
by  mere  light.  The  bluest  sky  disappears  on  that 
shining  edge;  there  is  not  substance  enough  for  color. 
The  rim  of  the  hill,  of  the  woodland,  of  the  meadow- 
land,  of  the  sea  — let  it  only  be  far  enough  — has  the 
same  absorption  of  color;  and  even  the  dark  things 
drawn  upon  the  bright  edges  of  the  sky  are  lucid,  the 
light  is  among  them,  and  they  are  mingled  with  it. 
The  horizon  has  its  own  way  of  making  bright  the 
penciled  figures  of  forests,  which  are  black  but  lumi- 
nous. 

On  the  horizon,  moreover,  closes  the  long  perspective 
of  the  sky.  There  you  perceive  that  an  ordinary  sky 
of  clouds  — not  a thunder  sky  — is  not  a wall,  but  the 
underside  of  a floor.  You  see  the  clouds  that  repeat 
each  other  grow  smaller  by  distance;  and  you  find  a 
new  unity  in  the  sky  and  earth  that  gather  alike  the 
great  lines  of  their  designs  to  the  same  distant  close. 

Of  all  the  things  that  London  has  foregone,  the  most 


174 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


to  be  regretted  is  the  horizon.  Not  the  bark  of  the  trees 
in  its  right  color;  not  the  spirit  of  the  growing  grass, 
which  has  in  some  way  escaped  from  the  parks;  not 
the  smell  of  the  earth  unmingled  with  the  odor  of  soot ; 
but  rather  the  mere  horizon.  No  doubt  the  sun  makes 
a beautiful  thing  of  the  London  smoke  at  times,  and  in 
some  places  of  the  sky;  but  not  there,  not  where  the 
soft,  sharp  distance  ought  to  shine.  To  be  dull  there  is 
to  put  all  relations  and  comparisons  in  the  wrong,  and 
to  make  the  sky  lawless. 

A horizon  dark  with  storm  is  another  thing.  The 
weather  darkens  the  line  and  defies  it,  or  mingles  it 
with  the  raining  cloud;  or  softly  dims  it,  or  blackens 
it  against  a gleam  of  narrow  sunshine  in  the  sky. 
The  stormy  horizon  will  take  wing,  and  be  sunny. 
Go  high  enough,  and  you  can  raise  the  light  from  be- 
yond the  shower,  and  the  shadow  from  behind  the  ray. 
Only  the  shapeless  and  lifeless  smoke  disobeys  and 
defeats  the  summer  of  the  eyes. 

Up  at  the  top  of  the  seaward  hill  your  first  thought 
is  one  of  some  compassion  for  sailors,  inasmuch  as  they 
see  but  little  of  their  sea.  A child  on  a mere  Channel 
cliff  looks  upon  spaces  and  sizes  that  they  cannot  see  in 
the  Pacific,  on  the  ocean  side  of  the  world.  Never  in 
the  solitude  of  the  blue  water,  never  between  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  and  Cape  Horn,  never  between  the  islands 
and  the  West,  has  the  seaman  seen  anything  but  a little 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


175 


circle  of  sea.  The  Ancient  Mariner,  when  he  was  alone, 
did  but  drift  through  a thousand  narrow  solitudes.  The 
sailor  has  nothing  but  his  mast,  indeed.  And  but  for 
his  mast  he  would  be  isolated  in  as  small  a world  as 
that  of  a traveler  through  the  plains. 

Round  the  plains  the  horizon  lies  with  folded  wings. 
It  keeps  them  so  perpetually  for  man,  and  opens  them 
only  for  the  bird,  replying  to  flight  with  flight. 

A close  circlet  of  waves  is  the  sailor’s  famous  offing. 
His  offing  hardly  deserves  the  name  of  horizon.  To 
hear  him  you  might  think  something  of  his  offing,  but 
you  do  not  so  when  you  sit  down  in  the  center  of  it. 

As  the  upspringing  of  all  things  at  your  going  up  the 
heights,  so  steady,  so  swift,  is  the  subsidence  at  your 
descent.  The  further  sea  lies  away,  hill  folds  down 
behind  hill.  The  whole  upstanding  world,  with  its 
looks  serene  and  alert,  its  distant  replies,  its  signals  of 
many  miles,  its  signs  and  communications  of  light, 
gathers  down  and  pauses.  This  flock  of  birds,  which  is 
the  mobile  landscape,  wheels  and  goes  to  earth.  The 
cardinal  weighs  down  the  audience  with  his  downward 
hands.  Farewell  to  the  most  delicate  horizon. 

— Alice  Mevnell. 


’Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view 
And  clothes  the  mountain  with  its  azure  hue. 

— Campbell. 


17G 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  WILD  HORSE 

The  day  when  the  singular  struggle  was  to  occur, 
the  expectation  of  which  had  excited  such  curiosity, 
arose  bright,  breezeless,  and  sultry,  and  so  continued 
till  long  past  noon ; but  the  sun  was  now  sinking  tow- 
ard the  Tyrrhenian  Sea,  and  a cool,  soft  air  had 
begun  to  blow  as  the  hour  approached  when  the  nephew 
of  the  triumvir  was  to  mount  the  horse  Sejanus,  in  the 
presence  of  such  a multitude  as  the  fields  of  Formiae 
had  never  before  beheld. 

At  the  distance  of  a few  miles  on  every  side,  the  fair 
vales  and  slopes  of  Italy  presented  the  appearance  of 
a deserted  land,  over  which  no  sound  was  heard  save 
the  drowsy  hum  of  insects,  the  occasional  sough  of  the 
rising  breeze  in  the  tops  of  the  woods,  and,  predominant 
over  all,  far  and  near,  the  piercing  ring  of  the  cicala. 

The  seats  of  the  temporary  amphitheater  were  all 
filled.  Within  and  beneath  them,  standing,  but  stand- 
ing on  three  several  elevations,  were  six  ranks  of  soldiers 
from  the  camp.  Immediately  behind  the  center  of  the 
amphitheater,  where  Augustus  with  his  court  sat  upon 
a strongly  built,  wooden  platform,  a grove  of  tall  and 
shady  trees  offered  in  their  branches  an  accommoda- 
tion of  which  the  fullest  advantage  had  been  taken  by 
a vast  miscellaneous  multitude,  chiefly  youths  and 
boys.  Among  them  were  several  soldiers  who  had 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


177 


received  a holiday,  and  had  found  no  room  for  them- 
selves in  the  amphitheater  and  who  were  readily  dis- 
tinguished by  their  costumes. 

On  each  side  of  the  large  canopied  platform  of  the 
emperor  were  several  seats  of  honor  lined  with  purple 
and  scarlet  cloths,  and  connected  with  the  platform  by 
continuous  pavilion  roofs,  but  having  their  own  benches. 
Here  many  ladies  and  some  boys  and  girls  sat.  It 
is  in  one  of  these  we  are  ourselves  going  to  take  post, 
invisible  but  watchful,  unheard  but  hearing. 

On  the  seat  immediately  in  front  of  ours,  and,  of 
course,  a little  below  it,  is  a group  of  three  persons, 
attended  by  a slave.  One  of  them  the  doctors  had  for- 
bidden to  go  forth;  but  he  had  come.  He  is  a mere 
child;  his  pretty  face  is  shockingly  disfigured;  both 
his  eyes  are  closed  and  blacked ; all  the  flesh  round  them 
is  a discolored  and  contused  mass,  his  head  is  bandaged, 
and  every  nerve  in  his  countenance  is  twitching  with 
furious  eagerness  and  curiosity.  Amid  the  immense 
murmur  of  so  many  human  voices,  we  have  to  listen 
with  attention,  in  order  to  catch  distinctly  what  the 
child,  Caligula,  says  in  his  shrill  treble  tones. 

“I  want  to  see ; I must  see ; I’ll  get  on  my  pony  too ! 
Ah,  my  sight ! I could  not  ride  blind ! 0 that  ac- 
cursed horse ! ” 

“Then,”  said  Piso,  “do  you  wish  the  youth  to  con- 
quer the  horse,  or  the  horse  his  rider?” 

CATH.  READERS.  7tH  YR.  12 


178 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


/ 


The  child  yelled,  and  struck  his  forehead  furiously 
with  his  fists. 

‘'Oh!  If  I could  only  see!  I ought  not  to  have 
come ! It  is  worse  to  be  here,  knowing  what  is  to 
happen,  and  having  it  all  close  under  my  eyes,  and  not 
to  see  it,  than  if  I was  far  away  and  without  the  tempta- 
tions around  me.” 

After  a pause  of  impotent  rage,  he  asked  Piso  if 
the  crowd  of  spectators  was  very  large. 

“It  is  the  largest  I ever  beheld,”  answered  Piso;  “it 
would  be  impossible  to  count  it,  or  to  guess  the  number.” 

“I  wish  every  one  present  was  stone  blind  at  this 
very  moment,”  said  the  dear  child. 

“Thanks,  orator,  on  the  part  of  all  here  present,” 
answered  Piso. 

“Understand  me  — only  for  the  moment,”  hastily 
returned  Ca.igula;  “I  would  give  them  their  sight 
again  when  I recovered  my  own.”  A pause.  “Or 
even  when  to-day’s  show  was  over,  perhaps.” 

While  yet  he  spoke,  the  hum  and  murmur,  which 
had  been  incessant,  died  rapidly  away. 

“What  is  it?”  asked  Caligula. 

“The  Sejan  horse  is  being  led  into  the  arena.  He  is 
muzzled;  two  grooms  are  now  slackening  the  muzzle, 
in  order  to  get  the  bit  well  back  between  his  teeth  by 
pulling  up  the  reins  which  are  under  the  muzzle,  as 
the  horse  opens  his  mouth. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


179 


“They  have  the  bit  properly  placed  now,  and  have 
quitted  his  head.  Oh ! what  a spring ! Bravo ! the 
fellow  has  regained  the  loop  of  his  rein  or  thong,  and 
hauls  the  beast  handsomely  back.” 

“How  can  one  man  on  either  side,”  asked  Caligula, 
“hold  him?  I have  seen  two  on  each  side.” 

“I  understand,”  replied  Piso;  but  before  he  could 
finish  his  remark,  a sudden  and  impressive  silence  fell 
upon  that  vast  assembly,  and  Piso  stopped  short. 
“What  has  happened  now?”  whispered  the  child. 
“The  rider  has  come  forth,”  answered  Piso,  “and 
is  walking  toward  the  horse  from  the  direction  of  the 
open  space  in  front  of  us.  By  Jupiter!  a splendid 
youth;  it  is  not  to  be  denied.” 

“How  is  he  dressed?  Has  he  his  whip  and  spurs? 
He  will  not  need  such  helps,  I surmise.” 

“He  has  no  spurs,  and  he  carries  nothing  in  his  hands. 
I see  he  is  giving  directions  to  the  grooms,  and  they  are 
contriving  to  bring  the  horse  round  with  his  head  tow- 
ard the  west.  Ah ! he  thus  faces  the  opening ; I dare 
say  he  will  try  to  push  the  animal  into  the  excitement 
of  a grand  rush,  and  thus  weary  him  at  the  outset. 
In  that  case,  we  shall  not  see  much  of  the  business ; he 
will  be  miles  away  over  the  country  in  a few  minutes.” 
“You  will  find  that  such  an  injustice  will  not  be 
allowed,”  answered  the  child.  “We  must  not  be  cheated 
out  of  our  rights.” 


180 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


“His  tunic,”  continued  Piso,  “is  belted  tight,  and  he 
wears  some  kind  of  greaves,  which  reach  higher  than 
the  knee,  that  will  protect  him  from  the  brute’s  teeth.” 
“I  don’t  care  for  his  greaves,”  returned  the  child; 
“the  teeth  may  not  wound  him,  but  they  will  pull  him 
off  or  make  him  lose  his  balance  all  the  same.  It  is 
agreed,  is  it  not,  that,  as  soon  as  he  is  mounted,  the 
muzzle  is  to  be  slipped  off  the  horse?” 

“Certainly,”  said  Piso, 

“Then  the  rest  is  certain,”  said  the  other.  “How 
is  it  contrived,  do  you  know?”  added  he. 

“The  muzzle  consists  of  a mere  roll  of  hide,”  replied 
Piso;  “and  it  is  those  long  reins  alone  which  keep  it 
folded,  being  passed  in  opposite  directions  round  the 
animal’s  nose.  Each  groom  has  the  same  kind  of 
double  rein;  and  each,  acting  in  concert,  will  set  the 
beast  free  as  soon  as  they  receive  the  signal.” 

“Who  gives  the  signal?” 

“The  rider  himself,  when  he  is  fairly  seated;  but 
Tiberius  will  tell  him  when  to  mount.” 

“Go  on  with  your  description  of  his  dress  and  his 
looks.  Does  he  seem  to  be  afraid?” 

“He  wears  a queer  sword;  I should  have  fancied  it 
cumbersome  to  him.  Afraid ! I should  say  not.  No 
sign  of  it.” 

At  first,  this  dialogue  was  sustained  in  a whisper; 
but  as  the  lull  of  all  noise  was  again  gradually  replaced 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


181 


by  the  hoarse  hum  of  a hundred  thousand  low-toned 
voices,  the  last  exclamation  of  Piso  was  as  loud  as  it 
was  sudden. 

‘‘Has  anything  further  taken  place?” 

“Why,  yes,”  said  Piso;  “and  something  which  I 
do  not  understand.  That  old  freedman  of  the  youth, 
together  with  Thellus  the  gladiator,  have  approached 
him,  and  Thellus  holds  in  each  hand  a sort  of  truncheon 
about  a yard  or  more  long.  The  freedman  holds  a 
small  horn  lantern  in  one  hand,  and  tenders  with  the 
other  a pair  of  large  woolen  gloves  to  his  young  master, 
who  is  even  now  putting  them  on.  As  he  puts  on  his 
gloves  he  looks  round  the  benches;  he  is  looking  our 
way  now.  What  can  he  mean  ? He  has  the  audacity 
to  wave  his  hand,  and  smile,  and  nod  in  this  direction ! ” 

A moment  after  this  remark,  Piso  suddenly  turned 
to  the  child  Caligula,  and  informed  him  that  Tiberius 
was  signing  to  him  (Piso)  to  go  down  into  the  arena, 
and  mount  one  of  the  spare  horses;  and,  although  un- 
willing, he  must  go. 

“And  how  shall  I know  what  occurs?”  cried  the 
passionate,  voluble  boy.  “It  is  like  plucking  out  one 
of  my  eyes.” 

Piso  rose  and  said:  “I  have  no  choice  but  to  obey; 
you  have  the  slave  Claudius  with  you;  he  not  only 
speaks  fluently,  but  I’ll  answer  for  it  he  will  watch  all 
the  stages  of  the  struggle  with  at  least  as  much  atten- 


182 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


tion  as  any  person  in  all  this  crowd  will ! His  liberty, 
his  wedding,  and  fifty  thousand  pieces  of  silver  are  at 
stake,” 

Saying  this,  he  descended  the  steps  of  the  narrow 
gangway  which  was  the  means  contrived  for  reaching 
and  quitting  the  higher  seats  in  the  temporary  circus. 
A few  moments  afterward,  he  was  seen  in  the  arena 
riding  by  the  side  of  Tiberius  to  and  fro. 

“Now,  slave,  remember  your  duty,”  cried  the  child 
Caligula;  “let  nothing  escape  your  eyes  or  my  ears. 
What  next?” 

“Those  queer- looking  staves,  my  lord,  which  the 
illustrious  Piso  has  mentioned  as  being  in  the  hands  of 
Thellus,  have  passed  into  those  of  the  young  knight, 
who  is  to  conquer  the  terrible  brute.” 

“What?  the  two  truncheons?  do  you  say  that  the 
knight  Paulus  has  taken  them  into  his  hands?  What 
good  can  they  do  him?” 

“Yes,  my  lord;  he  has  now  passed  both  of  them  into 
his  left  hand,  and  holds  them  by  the  thin  ends.  Thellus 
has  withdrawn  a few  paces ; the  old  freedman,  Philip, 
remains  still  near  the  youth.  Ha ! ” 

“What?” 

“Tiberius  has  signaled  the  arena  to  be  cleared.  We 
shall  soon  see  the  issue  now.  I care  not  for  my  free- 
dom; I care  for  the  safety  of  that  brave  young 
knight.” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


183 


“Does  he,  then,  seem  to  shrink?”  asked  the  child. 

“I  do  not,”  replied  Claudius,  “observe  any  shrink- 
ing, my  lord.  It  is  I who  shrink.  He  has  drawn  slowly 
near  the  horse  in  front,  and  stands  about  half  a yard 
from  his  left  shoulder.  He  is  following  Tiberius  with 
his  eyes.” 

“Go  on!” 

“The  arena  is  now  clear.  Ah ! me  miserable ! 
Tiberius  Csesar  lifts  his  hand,  and  you  hear  the  trumpet ! 
That  is  the  signal.” 

“ I hear  it  1 I hear  it !”  cried  the  child,  in  a sort  of 
ecstasy.  “ What  follows  now  ? Has  the  knight  Paulus 
mounted  ? ” 

“No,  my  lord;  he  has — ” 

“He  shrinks,  does  he  not?”  interrupted  the  other, 
with  a taunting  giggle. 

“The  horse  trembles  in  every  limb,”  said  the  slave; 
“his  nostrils  dilate  and  quiver,  and  show  scarlet,  as 
if  on  fire ; and  his  eyes  shoot  forth  a blood-red  gleam, 
and  he  has  stooped  his  head,  and  — ” 

“But  the  man,  the  man ? ” screamed  Caligula ; “what 
of  him  ? Has  he  not  failed,  I say  — lost  heart  ? ” 

The  most  profound  stillness  had  succeeded  to  the 
hubbub  of  blended  sounds  which  a moment  previously 
filled  the  air. 

A trumpet  blew  a shrill  prolonged  minor  note,  and 
the  child,  laying  his  hand  on  Claudius’s  shoulder,  and 


184 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


shaking  him  violently,  cried  to  him  to  proceed  with 
his  descriptions;  addressing  to  him  again  the  query, 
“Plas  that  young  man  mounted?  And  if  so,  in  what 
style,  with  what  success?” 

Notwithstanding  the  impatience  with  which  the 
inquiries  were  urged,  the  slave  did  not  at  first  reply; 
and  the  boy  heard  rapid,  eager  murmurs  on  all  sides 
follow  the  trumpet  blast,  then  a general  burst  of  ex- 
clamations, which  were  instantly  hushed. 

‘‘Why  do  you  not  speak?”  said  Caligula,  in  a whis- 
pered scream. 

“Pardon  a momentary  abstraction,”  replied  Clau- 
dius. “While  the  trumpet  was  yet  sounding,  the  young 
knight  Paulus  took  off  his  hat  quickly  and  bowed 
toward  Tiberius  and  the  emperor;  and  replacing  his 
hat,  he  beckoned  to  the  freedman  Philip.  This  last 
has  approached  him,  and  they  are  even  now  speaking 
together.” 

“Ha ! ha !”  interrupted  the  child;  “then  he  has  not 
mounted.  He  neither  dares  nor  can  he.” 

“Philip,”  pursued  Claudius,  “has  opened  the  lantern; 
his  young  master  is  thrusting  the  staves  toward  the 
light ; the  ends  have  caught  fire,  in  a dull  degree,  with 
some  smoke  accompanying  the  flame.  He  turns  quickly 
away  from  the  freedman,  and  holding  the  staves  still 
in  his  left  hand,  and  a little  away,  he  approaches  the 
horse ; now  he  stands  with  his  feet  close  together.  Oh  ! 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


185 


he  has  sprung  clean  from  the  ground;  he  is  in  his  seat. 
He  has  seized  the  bridle  in  his  right  hand  and  carried 
it  to  his  mouth;  he  takes  it  between  his  teeth.  He 
is  now  relieving  his  left  hand  of  one  of  those  torches; 
he  holds  one  in  each  hand,  somewhat  away  from  the 
body,  nearly  horizontal.  The  grooms  are  removing 
the  muzzle,  and  the  rider  sends  his  feet  firmly,  yet  I 
think  not  very  far,  through  the  stirrups  of  hide,  the  like 
of  which  I never  saw  before.  I wonder  they  are  not 
always  used.” 

“What  of  the  horse?  Is  he  motionless?” 

“Not  less  so  than  a statue,”  replied  the  slave;  “ex- 
cepting the  eyes  and  nostrils,  which  last  exhibit  a 
tremulous  movement,  and  show  scarlet,  like  hollow 
leaves  or  thin  shells  on  fire.  The  brute’s  lurid  eye 
looks  wicked  and  dire.” 

“How  looks  the  rider?” 

“Calm  and  heedful ; the  occasional  breath  of  air  from 
the  east  carries  away  to  the  front  the  slow  flame  and 
smoke  of  those  torches  which  he  holds  one  in  each  hand.” 
“What  can  they  be  for?” 

“I  know  not,”  replied  Claudius. 

“I  suppose  they  are  intended,”  said  the  child,  “to 
compel  the  horse  to  keep  his  head  straight.  Thus  the 
rider  need  not  fear  the  beast’s  teeth.  The  issue  seems, 
then,  to  be  reduced  to  a trial  of  sheer  horseman- 
ship.” 


186 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


“And  in  such  a trial,  most  honored  sir,”  replied  the 
slave,  “I  begin  to  have  hopes.  You  should  see  the 
youth.  The  leading-reins  are  now  loose.  The  muzzle 
is  snatched  away,  and  the  contest  has  begun.  Surely 
it  seems  one  between  a wild  beast  and  a demigod.” 
“Is  he  thrown?” 

“No;  yes;  so  help  me ! he  is  off,  but  is  off  standing.” 
“Explain;  proceed  — I tell  you,  proceed!” 

“The  horse,  after  a series  of  violent  plunges,  sud- 
denly reared  till  he  had  nearly  gained  a perpendicular 
position  upon  his  hind  legs,  the  fore  feet  pawing  the  air. 
The  rider,  who  seemed  to  be  as  little  liable  to  fall  as 
though  he  had  been  a part  of  the  animal,  then  quickly 
passed  his  right  foot  out  of  the  far  stirrup,  and  dropping 
the  bridle  from  his  teeth,  slipped  down  on  the  hither 
side.  Hark ! did  you  hear  the  crash  with  which  the 
fore  feet  have  come  down?  The  steed  seemed  to  be 
very  near  falling  backward,  but  after  a struggle  of  two 
or  three  seconds  recovered  himself.  0 ye  gods ! just 
as  you  heard  that  ponderous  thud  with  which  he  de- 
scended upon  his  fore  feet,  the  youth  darted  from  the 
ground  with  a spring  like  his  first,  and  he  is  now  on 
the  brute’s  back  as  before.  He  stoops  to  the  horse’s 
neck;  he  has  caught  the  bridle  in  his  teeth,  and  lifts 
that  brave,  clear  face  again.  Listen  to  the  multitude ! 
Oh ! how  the  cheers  thunder  from  a hundred  thousand 
sympathetic  voices.” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


187 


“Ah,  my  sight!”  cried  the  child  Caligula. 

“Ha!  ha!”  continued  Claudius,  transported  out  of 
himself.  “ Ha ! ha ! The  beast  of  a horse  seems 
astonished.  How  he  writhes  his  back,  curving  it  like 
some  monstrous  catamount.  And  lo ! now  he  leaps 
from  the  ground  with  all  four  feet  at  the  same  time.” 
“Oh!  for  a few  minutes’  sight!”  said  the  child. 
“Has  not  the  horse  tried  to  twist  his  head  round,  and 
so  to  bring  his  teeth  into  play?” 

“Even  now  he  tries,”  replied  Claudius;  “but  he  is 
met  on  either  side  by  the  torch.  The  fiercest  beast  of 
the  desert  shrinks  from  fire.  Do  you  hear  the  tread  of 
his  hoofs,  as  he  traces  the  circle  of  the  arena,  guided 
by  those  steady  hands  from  which  flames  appear  to  flow  ? 
Faster  and  faster  rushes  the  steed,  always  restrained 
and  turned  by  the  outer  torch,  which  is  brought  near 
his  head,  while  the  inner  is  held  farther  to  the  rear. 
His  sides  are  flecked  with  foam.  The  pace  grows  too 
rapid  for  a short  curve,  and  the  steed  is  now  guided 
straight  for  the  western  opening  in  the  arena  opposite 
to  where  we  sit.  They  are  gone;  and  again  hark! 
Is  not  that  shout  like  the  roar  of  waters  on  a storm- 
beaten  shore?” 

“But  surely,”  said  the  imperial  child,  “it  is  not  over 
so  soon.  It  is  like  a dream.” 


— Miles  Gerald  Keon. 


188 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  BELLS  OF  SANTA  YSABEL 

Sweet  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel, 

How  blithely  do  you  ring 
Across  the  sun-lit  valleys 
All  in  the  early  spring. 

Within  your  silver-throated  chimes 
There  lurks  melodious  strain 
Of  many  a tear  and  many  a prayer 
From  the  far  hills  of  Spain. 

Brave  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel, 

What  hands  have  fashioned  you  ? 

What  thoughts  were  welded  in  your  breast, 
What  dreams  and  fancies  true  ? 

The  gleaming  silver  of  your  mold 
Speaks  it  of  offerings  rare, 

Of  one  who  scorned  the  toys  of  earth 
For  Christ’s  sweet  service  fair? 

Bold  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel, 

You  sang  but  not  for  mirth. 

From  out  your  silver-throated  tones 
There  pealed  a clarion  forth. 

Mad  warfare’s  din  and  carnage  dire 
Followed  your  wild  alarm. 

And  peace  was  not  the  note  you  rang 
Nor  love  its  mellow  charm. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


189 


Dear  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel, 

No  belfry  now  is  yours, 

Where  minaret  or  Gothic  tower 
Or  carven  cross  endures. 

Yours  but  a rude  and  lonely  'shrine 
Upon  the  Mesa  wild, 

As  humble  as  Judea’s  hut 
Where  lay  the  Holy  Child. 

Yet,  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel, 

Far  holier  now  you  are 

Than  when  you  rang  the  tocsin  bold 

That  called  to  fame  and  war. 

The  messengers  to  simple  hearts 
Of  Christ’s  sweet  rood  are  you, 

Blest  bells  of  Santa  Ysabel 
Upon  the  Mesa  blue. 

— Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 


One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing. 

One  by  one  the  moments  fall; 

Some  are  coming,  some  are  going  ; — 

Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 

One  by  one  thy  duties  wait  thee, — 

Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each, 

Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee. 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

— Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 


190 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


AGRIPPINA 

She  is  sitting  now  on  my  desk,  and  I glance  at  her 
with  deference,  mutely  begging  permission  to  begin. 
But  her  back  is  turned  to  me,  and  expresses  in  every 
curve  such  fine  and  delicate  disdain  that  I falter  and 
lose  courage  at  the  very  threshold  of  my  task.  I 
should  like  to  explain  to  her,  if  I dared,  that  my  desk 
is  small,  littered  with  many  papers,  and  sadly  over- 
crowded with  the  useful  inutilities  which  affectionate 
friends  delight  in  giving  me  at  Christmas  time.  Even 
when  she  is  disposed  to  be  affable,  turns  the  light  of  her 
countenance  upon  me,  watches  with  attentive  curiosity 
every  stroke  I make,  and  softly,  with  curved  paw,  pats 
my  pen  as  it  travels  over  the  paper,  I am  aware  that 
I should  work  better  and  more  rapidly  if  I denied  my- 
self this  charming  companionship. 

But  in  truth  it  is  impossible  for  a lover  of  cats  to 
banish  these  alert,  gentle,  and  discriminating  little 
friends. 

If  I call  Agrippina,  she  does  not  come ; if  I tell  her 
to  go  away,  she  remains  where  she  is ; if  I try  to  per- 
suade her  to  show  off  her  one  or  two  little  accomplish- 
ments, she  refuses,  with  courteous  but  unswerving 
decision.  She  has  frolicsome  moods,  in  which  a thimble, 
a shoe-buttoner,  a scrap  of  paper,  or  a piece  of  string 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


191 


will  drive  her  wild  with  delight ; she  has  moods  of  in- 
flexible gravity,  in  which  she  stares  solemnly  at  her 
favorite  ball  rolling  over  the  carpet,  without  stirring 
one  lazy  limb  to  reach  it.  "Have  I seen  this  foolish 
toy  before  ? ” she  seems  to  be  asking  herself  with  musing 
austerity;  "and  can  it  be  possible  that  there  are  cats 
who  run  after  such  frivolous  trifles  ? Vanity  of  vani- 
ties, and  all  is  vanity,  save  only  to  lie  upon  the  hearth 
rug,  and  be  warm,  and  'think  grave  thoughts  to  feed 
a serious  soul.’” 

When  I am  told  that  Agrippina  is  disobedient,  un- 
grateful, cold-hearted,  perverse,  stupid,  treacherous, 
and  cruel,  I no  longer  strive  to  check  the  torrent  of 
abuse.  . . . Why,  I wonder,  should  a great  many  good 
men  and  women  cherish  an  unreasonable  grudge  against 
one  animal  because  it  does  not  chance  to  possess  the 
precise  qualities  of  another?  "My  dog  fetches  my  slip- 
pers for  me  every  night,”  said  a friend,  triumphantly, 
not  long  ago.  "He  puts  them  first  to  warm  by  the 
Are,  and  then  brings  them  over  to  my  chair,  as 
proud  as  Punch.  Would  your  cat  do  as  much  for 
you,  Pd  like  to  know?”  Assuredly  not!  . . . 

We  pick  no  quarrel  with  a canary  because  it 
does  not  talk  like  a parrot,  nor  with  a parrot  because 
it  does  not  sing  like  a canary.  We  find  no  fault  with  a 
King  Charles  spaniel  for  not  flying  at  the  throat  of  a 
burglar,  nor  with  a St.  Bernard  because  we  cannot  put 


192 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


it  in  our  pocket.  Agrippina  will  never  make  herself 
serviceable,  yet  nevertheless  is  she  of  inestimable 
service.  How  many  times  have  I rested  tired  eyes  on 
her  graceful  little  body,  curled  up  in  a ball  and  wrapped 
round  with  her  tail  like  a parcel,  or  stretched  out 
luxuriously  on  my  bed,  one  paw  coyly  covering  her 
face,  the  other  curved  gently  inwards,  as  though  clasp- 
ing an  invisible  treasure ! 

Asleep  or  awake,  in  rest  or  in  motion,  grave  or  gay, 
Agrippina  is  always  beautiful.  Sitting  on  the  library 
table,  under  the  evening  lamp,  with  her  head  held 
high  in  air,  her  tall  ears  as  erect  as  chimneys,  and  her 
inscrutable  gaze  fixed  on  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
room,  Agrippina  inspires  in  the  family  sentiments  of 
mingled  mirthfulness  and  awe.  To  laugh  at  her  in 
such  moments,  however,  is  to  incur  her  supreme  dis- 
pleasure. I have  known  her  to  jump  down  from  the 
table,  and  walk  haughtily  out  of  the  room,  because  of 
a single  half-suppressed  but  wholly  indecorous  giggle. 

‘H  value  in  the  cat,”  says  Chateaubriand,  “that 
independent  and  almost  ungrateful  temper  which 
prevents  it  from  attaching  itself  to  any  one,  the  in- 
difference with  which  it  passes  from  the  salon  to  the 
housetop.  When  you  caress  it,  it  stretches  itself  out 
and  arches  its  back  responsively;  but  that  is  caused 
by  physical  pleasure,  and  not,  as  in  the  case  of  the  dog. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


193 


by  a silly  satisfaction  in  loving  and  being  faithful  to  a 
master  who  returns  thanks  in  kicks.  The  cat  lives 
alone,  has  no  need  of  society,  does  not  obey  except 
when  it  likes,  pretends  to  sleep  that  it  may  see  the  more 
clearly,  and  scratches  everything  that  it  can  scratch.” 

Here  is  a sketch  spirited  enough,  and  of  good  outline, 
but  hardly  correct  in  detail.  A cat  seldom  manifests 
affection,  yet  is  often  distinctly  social,  and  likes  to  see 
itself  the  petted  minion  of  a family  group.  Agrippina, 
in  fact,  so  far  from  living  alone,  will  not,  if  she  can  help 
it,  remain  for  a moment  in  a room  by  herself.  She  is 
content  to  have  me  as  a companion,  perhaps  in  default 
of  better;  but  if  I go  upstairs  or  downstairs  in  search 
of  a book,  or  my  eyeglasses,  or  any  one  of  the  countless 
things  that  are  never  where  they  ought  to  be,  Agrippina 
follows  closely  at  my  heels. 

Sometimes,  when  she  is  fast  asleep,  I steal  softly 
out  of  the  door,  thinking  to  escape  her  vigilance; 
but  before  I have  taken  a dozen  steps  she  is  under 
my  feet,  mewing  a gentle  reproach,  and  putting  on 
all  the  injured  airs  of  a deserted  Ariadne.  Agrippina,  I 
am  humbly  aware,  grants  me  neither  her  intimacy  nor 
her  confidence,  but  only  her  companionship,  which  I 
endeavor  to  receive  modestly,  and  without  flaunting 
my  favors  to  the  world.  She  is  displeased  and  even 
downcast  when  I go  out,  and  she  greets  my  return 
with  delight,  thrusting  her  little  gray  head  between 

CATH.  READEKS.  7x11  YR. 13 


194 


SEVENTH  YEAK 


A Family 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


195 


the  banisters  the  instant  I open  the  house  door,  and 
waving  a welcome  in  mid-air  with  one  ridiculously 
small  paw.  Being  but  mortal,  I am  naturally  pleased 
with  these  tokens  of  esteem,  but  I do  not,  on  that 
account,  go  about  with  arrogant  brow,  and  boast  of 
my  intimacy  with  Agrippina.  I should  be  laughed  at, 
if  I did,  by  everybody  who  is  privileged  to  possess  and 
appreciate  a cat. 

As  for  curiosity,  that  vice  which  the  Abbe  Galiani 
held  to  be  unknown  to  animals,  but  which  the  more 
astute  Voltaire  detected  in  every  little  dog  that  he 
saw  peering  out  of  the  window  of  its  master’s  coach, 
it  is  the  ruling  passion  of  the  feline  breast.  A closet 
door  left  ajar,  a box  with  half-closed  lid,  an  open 
bureau  drawer,  — these  are  the  objects  that  fill  a cat 
with  the  liveliest  interest  and  delight.  Agrippina 
watches  the  unfastening  of  a parcel,  and  tries  to 
hasten  matters  by  clutching  at  the  string.  When 
its  contents  are  shown  her,  she  examines  them  gravely, 
and  then  settles  down  to  repose. 

The  slightest  noise  disturbs  and  irritates  her  until 
she  discovers  its  cause.  If  she  hears  a footstep  in 
the  hall,  she  runs  out  to  see  whose  it  is,  and,  like 
certain  troublesome  little  people  I have  known,  she 
dearly  loves  to  go  to  the  front  door  every  time  the  bell 
is  rung.  From  my  window  she  surveys  the  street 
with  tranquil  scrutiny,  and,  if  boys  are  playing  below. 


196 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


she  follows  their  games  with  a steady,  scornful  stare, 
very  different  from  the  wistful  eagerness  of  a friendly 
dog,  quivering  to  join  in  the  sport.  Sometimes  the 
boys  catch  sight  of  her,  and  shout  up  rudely  at  her 
window;  and  I can  never  sufficiently  admire  Agrip- 
pina’s conduct  upon  these  trying  occasions,  the  well- 
bred  composure  with  which  she  affects  neither  to  see 
nor  to  hear  them,  nor  to  be  aware  that  there  are  such 
objectionable  creatures  as  children  in  the  world. 

Sometimes,  too,  the  terrier  that  lives  next  door 
comes  out  to  sun  himself,  and,  beholding  my  cat  sit- 
ting well  out  of  reach,  he  dances  madly  up  and  down 
the  pavement,  barking  with  all  his  might,  and  rearing 
himself  on  his  short  hind  legs,  in  a futile  attempt  to 
dislodge  her.  Then  the  spirit  of  evil  enters  Agrippina’s 
little  heart.  The  window  is  open,  and  she  creeps  to 
the  extreme  edge  of  the  stone  sill,  stretches  herself  at 
full  length,  peers  down  smilingly  at  the  frenzied  dog, 
dangles  one  paw  enticingly  in  the  air,  and  exerts  her- 
self with  quiet  malice  to  drive  him  to  desperation. 
Her  sense  of  humor  is  awakened  by  his  frantic  efforts, 
and  by  her  own  absolute  security;  and  not  until  he 
is  spent  with  exertion,  and  lies  panting  and  exhausted 
on  the  bricks,  does  she  arch  her  graceful  back,  stretch 
her  limbs  lazily  in  the  sun,  and  with  one  light  bound 
spring  from  the  window  to  my  desk. 

— Agnes  Repplier. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


197 


THE  NUBIAN 

Richard  surveyed  the  Nubian  in  silence  as  he  stood 
before  him,  his  looks  bent  upon  the  ground,  his  arms 
folded  on  his  bosom,  with  the  appearance  of  a black 
marble  statue  of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship, 
waiting  life  from  the  touch  of  a Prometheus.  The 
King  of  England,  who,  as  it  was  emphatically  said  of 
his  successor,  Henry  the  Eighth,  loved  to  look  upon  a 
man,  was  well  pleased  with  the  thews,  sinews,  and 
symmetry  of  him  whom  her  now  surveyed,  and  ques- 
tioned him  in  the  lingua  Franca,  “Art  thou  a pagan?” 

The  slave  shook  his  head,  and,  raising  his  finger  to 
his  brow,  crossed  himself  in  token  of  his  Christianity, 
then  resumed  his  posture  of  motionless  humility. 

“A  Nubian  Christian,  doubtless,”  said  Richard, 
“and  mutilated  of  the  organ  of  speech  by  these  heathen 
dogs?” 

The  mute  again  slowly  shook  his  head,  in  token  of 
negative,  pointed  with  his  forefinger  to  heaven,  and 
then  laid  it  upon  his  own  lips. 

“I  understand  thee,”  said  Richard;  “thou  dost 
suffer  under  the  infliction  of  God,  not  by  the  cruelty  of 
man.  Canst  thou  clean  an  armor  and  belt,  and  buckle 
it  in  time  of  need?” 

The  mute  nodded,  and,  stepping  toward  the  coat  of 
mail,  which  hung  with  the  shield  and  helmet  of  the 


198 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


chivalrous  monarch,  upon  the  pillar  of  the  tent,  he 
handled  it  with  such  nicety  of  address,  as  sufficiently 
to  show  that  he  fully  understood  the  business  of  the 
armor  bearer. 

“Thou  art  an  apt,  and  wilt  doubtless  be  a useful, 
knave.  Thou  shalt  wait  in  my  chamber,  and  on  my 
person,”  said  the  king,  “to  show  how  much  I value  the 
gift  of  the  royal  Soldan.  If  thou  hast  no  tongue,  it 
follows  thou  canst  carry  no  tales,  neither  provoke  me 
to  be  sudden  by  an  unfit  reply.” 

The  Nubian  again  prostrated  himself  till  his  brow 
touched  the  earth,  then  stood  erect,  at  some  paces 
distant,  as  waiting  for  his  new  master’s  commands. 

“Nay,  thou  shalt  commence  thy  office  presently,” 
said  Richard,  “for  I see  a speck  of  rust  darkening  on 
that  shield ; and  when  I shake  it  in  the  face  of  Saladin, 
it  should  be  bright  and  unsullied  as  the  Soldan’s  honor 
and  mine  own.” 

A horn  was  winded  without,  and  presently  Sir  Henry 
Neville  entered  with  a packet  of  dispatches.  “From 
England,  my  lord,”  he  said,  as  he  delivered  it.  “From 
England,  — our  own  England!”  repeated  Richard,  in 
a tone  of  melancholy  enthusiasm.  “Alas!  they  little 
think  how  hard  their  sovereign  has  been  beset  by 
sickness  and  sorrow,  faint  friends,  and  forward  ene- 
mies.” Then,  opening  the  dispatches,  he  said  hastily, 
“Ha!  this  comes  from  no  peaceful  land;  they  too 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


199 


have  their  feuds.  Neville,  begone;  I must  peruse 
these  tidings  alone,  and  at  leisure.” 

Neville  withdrew  accordingly,  and  Richard  was  soon 
absorbed  in  the  melancholy  details  which  had  been 
conveyed  to  him  from  England,  concerning  the  factions 
that  were  tearing  to  pieces  his  native  dominions,  — 
the  disunion  of  his  brothers,  John  and  Geoffrey,  and 
the  quarrels  of  both  with  the  High  Justiciary  Long- 
champ,  Bishop  of  Ely;  the  oppressions  practiced  by 
the  nobles  upon  the  peasantry,  and  rebellion  of  the 
latter  against  their  masters,  which  had  produced 
everywhere  scenes  of  discord,  and  in  some  instances 
the  effusion  of  blood.  Details  of  incidents  mortifying 
to  his  pride,  and  derogatory  from  his  authority,  were 
intermingled  with  the  earnest  advice  of  his  wisest 
and  most  attached  counselors,  that  he  should  presently 
return  to  England,  as  his  presence  offered  the  only  hope 
of  saving  the  kingdom  from  all  the  horrors  of  civil 
discord,  of  which  France  and  Scotland  were  likely  to 
avail  themselves. 

Filled  with  the  most  painful  anxiety,  Richard  read, 
and  again  read,  the  ill-omened  letters,  compared  the 
intelligence  which  some  of  them  contained  with  the 
same  facts  as  differently  stated  in  others,  and  soon 
became  totally  insensible  to  whatever  was  passing 
around  him,  although  seated,  for  the  sake  of  coolness, 
close  to  the  entrance  of  his  tent,  and  having  the  cur- 


200 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


tains  withdrawn,  so  that  he  could  see  and  be  seen  by 
the  guards  and  others  who  were  stationed  without. 

Deeper  in  the  shadow  of  the  pavilion,  and  busied 
with  the  task  his  new  master  had  imposed,  sat  the 
Nubian  slave,  with  his  back  rather  turned  toward  the 
king.  He  had  finished  adjusting  and  cleaning  the 
hauberk  and  brigandine,  and  was  now  busily  employed 
on  a broad  pavise,  or  buckler,  of  unusual  size,  and 
covered  with  steel  plating,  which  Richard  often  used 
in  reconnoitering,  or  actually  storming,  fortified  places, 
as  a more  effectual  protection  against  missile  weapons 
than  the  narrow  triangular  shield  used  on  horseback. 

This  pavise  bore  neither  the  royal  lions  of  England, 
nor  any  other  device,  to  attract  the  observation  of  the 
defenders  of  the  walls  against  which  it  was  advanced. 
The  care,  therefore,  of  the  armorer  was  addressed  to 
causing  its  surface  to  shine  as  bright  crystal,  in  which 
he  seemed  to,  be  peculiarly  successful.  Beyond  the 
Nubian,  and  scarce  visible  from  without,  lay  the  large 
dog,  which  might  be  termed  his  brother  slave,  and 
which,  as  if  he  felt  awed  by  being  transferred  to  a royal 
owner,  was  couched  close  to  the  side  of  the  mute,  with 
his  head  and  ears  on  the  ground,  and  his  limbs  and  tail 
drawn  close  around  and  under  him. 

While  the  monarch  and  his  new  attendant  were  thus 
occupied,  another  actor  crept  upon  the  scene,  and 
mingled  among  the  group  of  English  yeomen,  about 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


201 


a score  of  whom,  respecting  the  unusually  pensive 
posture  and  close  occupation  of  their  sovereign,  were, 
contrary  to  their  wont,  keeping  a silent  guard  in  front 
of  his  tent.  It  was  not,  however,  more  vigilant  than 
usual.  Some  were  playing  at  games  of  hazard  with 
small  pebbles,  others  spoke  together  in  whispers  of 
the  approaching  day  of  battle,  and  several  lay  asleep, 
their  bulky  limbs  folded  in  their  green  mantles. 

Amid  these  careless  warders  glided  the  puny  form 
of  a little  old  Turk,  poorly  dressed  like  a marabout  or 
santon  of  the  desert,  — a sort  of  enthusiast,  who 
sometimes  ventured  into  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders, 
though  treated  always  with  contumely,  and  often  with 
violence.  Indeed,  the  luxury  and  indulgence  of  the 
Christian  leaders  had  occasioned  a motley  concourse 
in  their  tents,  of  Jewish  merchants,  Copts,  Turks,  and 
all  the  varied  refuse  of  the  Eastern  nations;  so  that 
the  caftan  and  turban  — though  to  drive  both  from 
the  Holy  Land  was  the  professed  object  of  the  expedi- 
tion — were  nevertheless  neither  an  uncommon  nor 
an  alarming  sight  in  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders. 

When,  however,  the  little  insignificant  figure  we 
have  described  approached  so  nigh  as  to  receive 
some  interruption  from  the  warders,  he  dashed  his 
dusky  green  turban  from  his  head,  showed  that  his 
beard  and  eyebrows  were  shaved  like  those  of  a pro- 
fessed buffoon,  and  that  the  expression  of  his  fantastic 


202 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


and  writhen  features,  as  well  as  of  his  little  black 
eyes,  which  glittered  like  jet,  was  that  of  a crazed 
imagination. 

“Dance,  marabout,”  cried  the  soldiers,  acquainted 
with  the  manners  of  these  wandering  enthusiasts,  — 
“dance,  or  we  will  scourge  thee  with  our  bowstrings, 
till  thou  spin  as  never  top  did  under  schoolboy’s  lash.” 
Thus  shouted  the  reckless  warders,  as  much  delighted 
at  having  a subject  to  tease  as  a child  when  he  catches 
a butterfly,  or  a schoolboy  upon  discovering  a bird’s 
nest. 

The  marabout,  as  if  happy  to  do  their  behests, 
bounded  from  the  earth,  and  spun  his  giddy  round 
before  them  with  singular  agility,  which,  when  con- 
trasted with  his  slight  and  wasted  figure  and  diminutive 
appearance,  made  him  resemble  a withered  leaf  twirled 
round  and  round  at  the  pleasure  of  the  winter’s  breeze. 
His  single  lock  of  hair  streamed  upwards  from  his  bald 
and  shaven  head,  as  if  some  genie  upheld  him  by  it; 
and  indeed  it  seemed  as  if  supernatural  art  were  neces- 
sary to  the  execution  of  the  wild  whirling  dance,  in 
which  scarce  the  tiptoe  of  the  performer  was  seen  to 
touch  the  ground. 

Amid  the  vagaries  of  his  performance,  he  flew  here 
and  there,  from  one  spot  to  another,  still  approaching, 
however,  though  almost  imperceptibly,  to  the  entrance 
of  the  royal  tent;  so  that,  when  at  length  he  sunk 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


203 


exhausted  on  the  earth,  after  two  or  three  bounds  still 
higher  than  those  which  he  had  yet  executed,  he  was 
not  above  thirty  yards  from  the  king’s  person. 

For  the  space  of  a quarter  of  an  hour,  or  longer,  after 
the  incident  related,  all  remained  perfectly  quiet  in  the 
front  of  the  royal  habitation.  The  king  read  and  mused 
in  the  entrance  of  his  pavilion;  behind,  and  with  his 
back  turned  to  the  same  entrance,  the  Nubian  slave 
still  burnished  the  ample  pavise;  in  front  of  all,  at  an 
hundred  paces  distant,  the  yeomen  of  the  guard  stood, 
sat,  or  lay  extended  on  the  grass,  attentive  to  their  own 
sports,  but  pursuing  them  in  silence;  while  on  the 
esplanade  betwixt  them  and  the  front  of  the  tent  lay, 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  a bundle  of  rags,  the 
senseless  form  of  the  marabout. 

But  the  Nubian  had  the  advantage  of  a mirror,  from 
the  brilliant  reflection  which  the  surface  of  the  highly 
polished  shield  now  afforded,  by  means  of  which  he 
beheld,  to  his  alarm  and  surprise,  that  the  marabout 
raised  his  head  gently  from  the  ground,  so  as  to  survey 
all  around  him,  moving  with  a well-adjusted  precau- 
tion, which  seemed  entirely  inconsistent  with  a state 
of  ebriety.  He  couched  his  head  instantly,  as  if  satisfied 
he  was  unobserved,  and  began,  with  the  slightest 
possible  appearance  of  voluntary  effort,  to  drag  him- 
self, as  if  by  chance,  ever  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  king, 
but  stopping  and  remaining  fixed  at  intervals,  like  the 


204 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Statue  of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


205 


spider,  which,  moving  toward  her  object,  collapses 
into  apparent  lifelessness  when  she  thinks  she  is  the 
subject  of  observation.  This  species  of  movement 
appeared  suspicious  to  the  Ethiopian,  who,  on  his 
part,  prepared  himself  as  quietly  as  possible  to  inter- 
fere the  instant  that  interference  should  seem  to  be 
necessary. 

The  marabout  meanwhile  glided  on  gradually  and 
imperceptibly,  serpent-like,  or  rather  snail-like,  till  he 
was  about  ten  yards’  distance  from  Richard’s  person, 
when,  starting  on  his  feet,  he  sprung  forward  with  the 
bound  of  a tiger,  stood  at  the  king’s  back  in  less  than 
an  instant,  and  brandished  aloft  the  cangiar,  or  pon- 
iard, which  he  had  hidden  in  his  sleeve. 

Not  the  presence  of  his  whole  army  could  have 
saved  their  heroic  monarch;  but  the  motions  of  the 
Nubian  had  been  as  well  calculated  as  those  of  the 
enthusiast,  and,  ere  the  latter  could  strike,  the  former 
caught  his  uplifted  arm.  Turning  his  fanatical  wrath 
upon  what  thus  unexpectedly  interposed  betwixt  him 
and  his  object,  the  Charegite,  for  such  was  the  seeming 
marabout,  dealt  the  Nubian  a blow  with  the  dagger, 
which,  however,  only  grazed  his  arm,  while  the  far 
superior  strength  ol  the  Ethiopian  easily  dashed  him 
to  the  ground. 

Aware  of  what  had  passed,  Richard  had  now  arisen, 
and  with  little  more  of  surprise,  anger,  or  interest  of 


206 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


any  kind  in  his  countenance  than  an  ordinary  man 
would  show  in  brushing  off  and  crushing  an  intrusive 
wasp;  caught  up  the  stool  on  which  he  had  been  sit- 
ting, and  exclaiming  only  “Ha,  dog!”  dashed  almost 
to  pieces  the  skull  of  the  assassin,  who  uttered  twice, 
once  in  a loud  and  once  in  a broken  tone,  the  words 
“Allah  akbar!”  — God  is  victorious  — and  expired 
at  the  king’s  feet. 

“Ye  are  careful  warders,”  said  Richard  to  his  archers, 
in  a tone  of  scornful  reproach,  as,  aroused  by  the  bustle 
of  what  had  passed,  in  terror  and  tumult  they  now 
rushed  into  his  tent;  “watchful  sentinels  ye  are,  to 
leave  me  to  do  such  hangman’s  work  with  my  own 
hands.  Be  silent,  all  of  you,  and  cease  your  senseless 
clamor!  Saw  ye  never  a dead  Turk  before?  Here, 
cast  that  carrion  out  of  the  camp,  strike  the  head  from 
the  trunk,  and  stick  it  on  a lance,  taking  care  to  turn 
the  face  to  Mecca,  that  he  may  the  easier  tell  the  foul 
impostor,  on  whose  inspiration  he  came  hither,  how 
he  has  sped  on  his  errand.  For  thee,  my  swart  and 
silent  friend,”  he  added,  turning  to  the  Ethiopian 
— “but  how’s  this?  thou  art  wounded,  and  with  a 
poisoned  weapon,  I warrant  me;  for  by  force  of  stab 
so  weak  an  animal  as  that  could  scarce  hope  to  do 
more  than  raise  the  lion’s  hide.  Suck  the  poison  from 
the  wound,  one  of  you ; the  venom  is  harmless  on  the 
lips,  though  fatal  when  it  mingles  with  the  blood.” 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


207 


The  yeomen  looked  on  each  other  confusedly  and 
with  hesitation,  the  apprehension  of  so  strange  a dan- 
ger prevailing  with  those  who  feared  no  other. 

“How  now,  sirrah?”  continued  the  king;  “are  you 
dainty-lipped,  or  do  you  fear  death,  that  you  dally 
thus?” 

“Not  the  death  of  a man,”  said  Long  Allan,  to  whom 
the  king  looked  as  he  spoke;  “but  methinks  I would 
not  die  like  a poisoned  rat  for  the  sake  of  a black  chattel 
there,  that  is  bought  and  sold  in  a market  like  a Martle- 
mas  ox.” 

“His  Grace  speaks  to  men  of  sucking  poison,”  mut- 
tered another  yeoman,  “as  if  he  said,  ‘Go  to,  swallow 
a gooseberry!’” 

“Nay,”  said  Richard,  “I  never  bade  a man  do  that 
which  I would  do  not  myself.” 

And  without  further  ceremony,  and  in  spite  of  the 
general  expostulations  of  those  around,  and  the  re- 
spectful opposition  of  the  Nubian  himself,  the  King  of 
England  applied  his  lips  to  the  wound  of  the  black 
slave,  treating  with  ridicule  all  remonstrances,  and 
overpowering  all  resistance.  He  had  no  sooner  inter- 
mitted his  singular  occupation,  than  the  Nubian 
started  from  him,  and,  casting  a scarf  over  his  arm, 
intimated  by  gestures,  as  firm  in  purpose  as  they  were 
respectful  in  manner,  his  determination  not  to  permit 
the  monarch  to  renew  so  degrading  an  employment. 


208 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


Long  Allan  also  interposed,  saying  that  if  it  were 
necessary  to  prevent  the  king  engaging  again  in  a 
treatment  of  this  kind,  his  own  lips,  tongue,  and  teeth 
were  at  the  service  of  the  negro  (as  he  called  the 
Ethiopian),  and  that  he  would  eat  him  up  bodily,  rather 
than  King  Richard’s  mouth  should  again  approach 
him. 

Neville,  who  entered  with  other  officers,  added  his 
remonstrances. 

“Nay,  nay,  make  not  a needless  halloo  about  a hart 
that  the  hounds  have  lost,  or  a danger  when  it  is  over,” 
said  the  king.  “The  wound  will  be  a trifle,  for  the 
blood  is  scarce  drawn,  — an  angry  cat  had  dealt  a 
deeper  scratch,  — and,  for  me,  I have  but  to  take  a 
dram  of  orvietan  by  way  of  precaution,  though  it  is 
needless.” 

Thus  spoke  Richard,  a little  ashamed,  perhaps,  of  his 
own  condescension,  though  sanctioned  both  by  hu- 
manity and  gratitude.  But  when  Neville  continued 
to  make  remonstrances  on  the  peril  to  his  royal  per- 
son, the  king  imposed  silence  on  him. 

“Peace,  I prithee;  make  no  more  of  it.  I did  it 
but  to  show  these  ignorant  prejudiced  knaves  how 
they  might  help  each  other  when  these  cowardly 
caitiffs  come  against  us  with  sarbacanes  and  poisoned 
shafts.” 


— Sir  Walter  Scott. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


209 


CROSSING  THE  BAR 

Subset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me ! 

And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 

When  I put  out  to  sea. 

But  such  a tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  and  foam. 

When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell. 

And  after  that  the  dark ! 

And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell. 

When  I embark ; 

For  tho’  from  out  the  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 
The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 

I hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I have  cross’d  the  bar. 

— Alfred  Tennyson. 


Beautiful  Mother,  we  deck  thy  shrine  ; 

All  that  is  brightest  and  best  of  ours 
Found  in  our  gardens,  we  reckon  thine,  — 

God  thought  of  thee  when  He  made  the  flowers. 

— Rev.  K.  D.  Beste. 


CATH.  READERS.  7tII  YR. 14 


210 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


EXTRACT  FROM  A FOURTH-OF-JULY  ORATION 

On  the  Fourth  of  July,  1776,  the  representatives 
of  the  United  States  of  America,  in  Congress  assembled, 
declared  that  these  United  Colonies  are,  and  of  right 
ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  States.  This 
declaration,  made  by  most  patriotic  and  resolute  men, 
trusting  in  the  justice  of  their  cause,  and  the  pro- 
tection of  Providence  — and  yet  not  without  deep 
solicitude  and  anxiety  — has  stood  for  seventy-five 
years,  and  still  stands.  It  was  sealed  in  blood.  It 
has  met  dangers  and  overcome  them;  it  has  had  ene- 
mies, and  it  has  conquered  them;  it  has  had  detrac- 
tors, and  it  has  abashed  them  all ; it  has  had  doubting 
friends,  but  it  has  cleared  all  doubts  away;  and  now, 
to-day,  raising  its  august  form  higher  than  the  clouds, 
twenty  millions  of  people  contemplate  it  with  hallowed 
love,  and  the  world  beholds  it,  and  the  consequences 
which  have  followed,  with  profound  admiration.  This 
anniversary  animates  and  gladdens,  and  unites  all 
American  hearts. 

On  other  days  of  the  year  we  may  be  party  men, 
indulging  in  controversies  more  or  less  important  to 
the  public  good ; we  may  have  likes  and  dislikes,  and 
we  may  maintain  our  political  differences  often  with 
warm,  and  sometimes  with  angry  feelings.  But  to-day 
we  are  Americans  all  in  all,  nothing  but  Americans. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


211 


Every  man’s  heart  swells  within  him.  Every  man’s 
port  and  bearing  become  somewhat  more  proud  and 
lofty,  as  he  remembers  that  seventy-five  years  have 
rolled  away,  and  that  the  great  inheritance  of  liberty 
is  still  his;  his,  undiminished  and  unimpaired;  his,  in 
all  its  original  glory;  his  to  enjoy,  his  to  protect,  and 
his  to  transmit  to  future  generations. 

If  Washington  were  now  amongst  us  — and  if  he 
could  draw  around 'him  the  shades  of  the  great  public 
men  of  his  own  days  — patriots  and  warriors,  orators 
and  statesmen  — and  were  to  address  us  in  their  pres- 
ence, would  he  not  say  to  us  — “Ye  men  of  this 
generation,  I rejoice  and  thank  God  for  being  able  to 
see  that  our  labors,  and  toils,  and  sacrifices,  were  not 
in  vain.  You  are  prosperous  — you  are  happy  — you 
are  grateful.  The  fire  of  liberty  burns  brightly  and 
steadily  in  your  hearts,  while  duty  and  the  law  re- 
strain it  from  bursting  forth  in  wild  and  destructive 
conflagration.  Cherish  liberty  as  you  love  it — cherish 
its  securities  as  you  wish  to  preserve  it.  Maintain  the 
Constitution  which  we  labored  so  painfully  to  establish, 
and  which  has  been  to  you  such  a source  of  ines- 
timable blessings.  Preserve  the  Union  of  the  States, 
cemented  as  it  was  by  our  prayers,  our  tears,  and  our 
blood.  Be  true  to  God,  your  country,  and  your  duty.” 

— Daniel  Webster  (1851). 


212 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


GOVERNMENT  A NECESSITY  OF  SOCIETY 

Man  is  a dependent  being,  and  neither  does  nor 
can  suffice  for  himself.  He  lives  not  in  himself,  but 
lives  and  moves  and  has  his  being  in  God.  He  exists, 
develops,  and  fulfills  his  existence  only  by  communion 
with  God,  through  which  he  participates  of  the  divine 
being  and  life.  He  communes  with  God  through  the 
divine  creative  act  and  the  Incarnation  of  the  Word, 
through  his  kind,  and  through  the  material  world. 

Communion  with  God  through  Creation  and  Incarna- 
tion is  religion,  distinctively  taken,  which  binds  man  to 
God  as  his  first  cause,  and  carries  him  onward  to  God 
as  his  final  cause;  communion  through  the  material 
world  is  expressed  by  the  word  property;  and  com- 
munion with  God  through  humanity  is  society.  Re- 
ligion, society,  property,  are  the  three  terms  that 
embrace  the  whole  man’s  life,  and  express  the  essential 
means  and  conditions  of  his  existence,  his  develop- 
ment, and  his  perfection,  or  the  fulfillment  of  his  ex- 
istence, the  attainment  of  the  end  for  which  he  is 
created. 

Though  society,  or  the  communion  of  man  with 
his  Maker  through  his  kind,  is  not  all  that  man  needs 
in  order  to  live,  to  grow,  to  actualize  the  possibilities 
of  his  nature,  and  to  attain  to  his  beatitude,  since 
humanity  is  neither  God  nor  the  material  universe. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


213 


it  is  yet  a necessary  and  essential  condition  of  his  life^ 
his  progress,  and  the  completion  of  his  existence. 
He  is  born  and  lives  in  society,  and  can  be  born  and 
live  nowhere  else.  It  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  his 
nature.  “God  saw  that  it  was  not  good  for  man  to 
be  alone.”  Hence,  wherever  man  is  found,  he  is  found 
in  society,  living  in  more  or  less  strict  intercourse  with 
his  kind. 

But  society  never  does  and  never  can  exist  without 
government  of  some  sort.  As  society  is  a necessity 
of  man’s  nature,  so  is  government  a necessity  of  society. 
The  simplest  form  of  society  is  the  family  — Adam 
and  Eve.  But  though  Adam  and  Eve  are  in  many 
respects  equal,  and  have  equally  important  though 
different  parts  assigned  them,  one  or  the  other  must 
be  head  and  governor,  or  they  can  not  form  the  society 
called  family.  They  would  be  simply  two  individuals 
of  different  sexes,  and  the  family  would  fail  for  tli(^ 
want  of  unity.  Children  can  not  be  reared,  trained, 
or  educated  without  some  degree  of  family  govern- 
ment, of  some  authority  to  direct,  control,  restrain, 
or  prescribe.  Hence  the  authority  of  the  husband 
is  recognized  by  the  common  consent  of  mankind. 

Still  more  apparent  is  the  necessity  of  govern- 
ment the  moment  the  family  develops  and  grows 
into  a tribe,  and  the  tribe  into  a nation.  Hence 
no  nations  exist  without  a government;  and  we 


214 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


never  find  a savage  tribe,  however  low  and  degraded, 
that  does  not  assert  somewhere,  in  the  father,  in  the 
elders,  or  in  the  tribe  itself,  the  rude  outlines  or  the 
faint  reminiscences  of  some  sort  of  government,  with 
authority  to  demand  obedience  and  to  punish  the  re- 
fractory. Hence,  as  man  is  nowhere  found  out  of 
society,  so  nowhere  is  society  found  without  govern- 
ment. 

Government  is  necessary:  but  let  it  be  remarked 
by  the  way,  that  its  necessity  does  not  grow  exclusively 
or  chiefly  out  of  the  fact  that  the  human  race  by  sin 
has  fallen  from  its  primitive  integrity,  or  original 
righteousness.  The  fall  asserted  by  Christian  theology, 
though  often  misinterpreted,  and  its  effects  underrated 
or  exaggerated,  is  a fact  too  sadly  confirmed  by  in- 
dividual experience  and  universal  history;  but  it 
is  not  the  cause  why  government  is  necessary,  though 
it  may  be  an  additional  reason  for  demanding  it. 
Government  would  have  been  necessary  if  man  had 
not  sinned. 

The  law  was  promulgated  in  the  Garden,  while  man 
retained  his  innocence  and  remained  in  the  integrity 
of  his  nature.  It  exists  in  heaven  as  well  as  on 
earth,  and  in  heaven  in  its  perfection.  Its  office  is 
not  purely  repressive,  to  restrain  violence,  to  redress 
wrongs,  and  to  punish  the  transgressor.  It  has  some- 
thing more  to  do  than  to  restrict  our  natural  liberty. 


SEVENTH  YEAE 


215 


curb  our  passions,  and  maintain  justice  between  man 
and  man.  Its  office  is  positive  as  well  as  negative. 
It  is  needed  to  render  effective  the  solidarity  of  the 
individuals  of  a nation,  and  to  render  the  nation  an 
organism,  not  a mere  organization  — to  combine  men 
in  one  living  body,  and  to  strengthen  all  with  the 
strength  of  each,  and  each  with  the  strength  of  all  — 
to  develop,  strengthen,  and  sustain  individual  liberty, 
and  to  utilize  and  direct  it  to  the  promotion  of  the 
common  weal  — to  be  a social  providence,  imitating 
the  action  of  the  divine  providence  itself. 

It  is  the  minister  of  wrath  to  wrongdoers,  indeed, 
but  its  nature  is  beneficent,  and  its  action  defines 
and  protects  the  right  of  property,  creates  and 
maintains  a medium  in  which  religion  can  exert 
her  supernatural  energy,  promotes  learning,  fosters 
science  and  art,  advances  civilization,  and  contrib- 
utes as  a powerful  means  to  the  fulfillment  by  man 
of  the  Divine  purpose  in  his  existence.  Next  after 
religion,  it  is  man’s  greatest  good;  and  even  religion 
without  it  can  do  only  a small  portion  of  her  work. 
They  wrong  it  who  call  it  a necessary  evil;  it  is  a 
great  good,  and  it  should  be  loved,  respected,  obeyed, 
and,  if  need  be,  defended  at  the  cost  of  all  earthly 
goods,  and  even  life  itself. 


— Orestes  A.  Brownson. 


216 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 

Father  of  all ! in  every  age, 

In  every  clime  adored, 

By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 

Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood : 
Who  all  my  sense  confined 

To  know  but  this,  that  Thou  art  good. 
And  that  myself  am  blind ; 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate. 

To  see  the  good  from  ill ; 

And  binding  Nature  fast  in  Fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done. 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do. 

This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 
That,  more  than  heaven  pursue. 

What  blessings  Thy  free  bounty  gives. 

Let  me  not  cast  away : 

For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives; 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


217 


Yet  not  to  earth’s  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Or  think  Thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  hand 
Presume  Thy  bolts  to  throw. 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
On  each  I judge  Thy  foe. 

If  I am  right.  Thy  grace  impart, 
Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 

If  I am  wrong,  oh,  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way. 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride 
Or  impious  discontent. 

At  aught  Thy  wisdom  has  denied, 
Or  aught  Thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another’s  woe. 

To  hide  the  fault  I see ; 

That  mercy  I to  others  show. 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I am,  not  wholly  so. 
Since  quickened  by  Thy  breath ; 

Oh,  lead  me  wheresoe’er  T go. 
Through  this  day’s  life  or  death. 


218 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot : 

All  else  beneath  the  sun, 

Thou  know’st  if  best  bestowed  or  not; 

And  let  Thy  will  be  done. 

To  Thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies, 

One  chorus  let  all  being  raise ; 

All  nature’s  incense  rise ! 

— Alexander  Pope. 


GETTYSBURG  ADDRESS 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought 
forth  upon  this  continent  a new  nation,  conceived  in 
liberty,  and  dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men 
are  created  equal.  Now  we  are  engaged  in  a great 
civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any  nation 
so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We 
are  met  on  a great  battlefield  of  that  war.  We  have 
come  to  dedicate  a portion  of  that  field  as  a final  rest- 
ing-place for  those  who  here  gave  their  lives  that  the 
nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper 
that  we  should  do  this.  But  in  a larger  sense  we  can 
not  dedicate,  we  can  not  consecrate,  we  can  not  hallow 
this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who 
struggled  here  have  consecrated  it  far  above  our  power 


From  " Harper  a Weekly F Copyright,  1890,  hy  Harper  & Brothers. 

Lincoln  delivering  his  Address  at  Gettysburg 


220 


SEVENTH  YEAR 


to  add  or  detract.  The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long 
remember,  what  we  say  here,  but  it  can  never  forget 
what  they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to 
be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished  work  which  they 
who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced.  It 
is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task 
remaining  before  us,  — that  from  these  honored  dead 
we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 
they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion,  — that 
we  here  highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have 
died  in  vain,  — that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall 
have  a new  birth  of  freedom,  — and  that  government 
of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not 
perish  from  the  earth. 

— Abraham  Lincoln. 


A MESSAGE 

A message  from  the  Sacred  Heart ! 

What  may  Its  message  be? 

“ My  child,  my  child,  give  Me  thy  heart  — 
My  Heart  has  bled  for  thee.” 

This  is  the  message  Jesus  sends 

To  my  poor  heart  to-day. 

And  eager  from  His  throne  He  bends 

To  hear  what  I shall  say. 

— Father  Russell,  S.J. 

I 


AUTHORS 


Whose  loorks  are  represented  in  this  volume 


Addison,  Joseph 

English 

1672-1719 

Arnold,  Matthew 

English 

1822-1888 

Azarias,  Brother 

Irish-American 

1847-1893 

Bancroft,  George 

American 

1800-1891 

Beste,  Rev.  K.  D. 

English 

— 

Brownson,  Orestes  A. 

American 

1803-1876 

Bryant,  William  C. 

American 

1794-1878 

Burroughs,  John 

American 

1837- 

Epictetus 

Greco-Roman 

lstC.,A.D. 

Guiney,  Louise  Imogen 

American 

1861- 

Harrison,  Edith  Ogden 

American 

— 

Keon,  Miles  Gerald 

Irish 

1821-1866 

Lincoln,  Abraham 

American 

1809-1865 

Longfellow,  Henry  W. 

Am^erican 

1807-1882 

Lowell,  James  R. 

American 

1819-1891 

Macaulay,  Thomas  B. 

English 

1800-1859 

MacCarthy,  Sister  M.  S. 

American 

— 

Meline,  James  E. 

American 

1803-1849 

Melville,  Herman 

American 

1819-1891 

Meynell,  Alice 

English 

— 

Newman,  Cardinal 

English 

1801-1890 

Nixon-Roulet,  Mary  F. 

American 

— 

O’Reilly,  John  Boyle 

Irish-American 

1844-1890 

Poe,  Edgar  A. 

American 

1809-1849 

Pope,  Alexander 

English 

1688-1744 

Procter,  Adelaide  A. 

English 

1835-1864 

Repplier,  Agnes 

American 

1857- 

Richter,  John  Paul 

German 

1763-1825 

Ryan,  Rev.  A.  J. 

American 

1839-1886 

Russell,  Father 

English 

— 

Sadlier,  Mrs.  eT. 

Irish-American 

1820-1903 

Sales,  St.  Francis  de 

Born  in  Savoy 

1567-1622 

221 


222 


SEVENTH  YEAH 


Saxe,  John  G. 

American 

1816-1887 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 

Scottish 

1771-1832 

Shakespeare,  William 

English 

1564-1616 

Souvestre,  Emile 

French 

1806-1854 

Spalding,  Bishop 

American 

1840- 

Starr,  Eliza  Allan 

American 

1824-1901 

Stoddard,  Charles  Warren 

American 

1843- 

Stoddard,  Richard  H. 

American 

1825-1903 

Tennyson,  Alfred 

English 

1809-1892 

Webster,  Daniel 

American 

1782-1852 

Whiteley,  Henry 

American 

— 

Wiseman,  Cardinal 

Irish 

1802-1865 

Yonge,  Charlotte  M. 

English 

1823-1901 

NAMES  OF  PERSONS  AND  PLACES 


GUIDE  TO  PRONUNCIATION 


a,  as  in  mate. 

ew=u  or  u,  as  in  new. 

ow=ou,  as  in  owl. 

a,  as  in  sen'ate. 

g=j,  as  in  gem. 

oy=oi,  as  in  boy. 

a,  as  in  care. 

I,  as  in  mine. 

g = z,  as  in  big. 

a,  as  in  at. 

i,  as  in  idea. 

th,  as  in  thin. 

a,  as  in  arm. 

1,  as  in  it. 

•01,  as  in  then. 

a,  as  in  ask. 

i=e,  as  in  sir,  bird. 

u,  as  in  mute. 

a,  as  in  all. 

i = e,  as  in  machine. 

u,  as  in  thus. 

a =5,  as  in  what. 

n=ng,  as  in  bank. 

u,  as  in  rude. 

5=s,  as  in  ^ell. 

o,  as  in  old. 

u=do,  as  in  full. 

e,  as  in  he,  mete. 

6,  as  in  obey. 

u,  as  in  burn. 

e,  as  in  event. 

6,  as  in  6r. 

y=i,  as  in  by. 

e,  as  in  met. 

o,  as  in  n5t. 

y=i,  as  in  hymn. 

e,  as  in  her. 

0=00,  as  in  dp,  room. 

y=e,  as  in  myrtle. 

e = a,  as  in  eight. 

0=00  or  u,  as  in  wolf. 

e = ^,  as  in  where. 

6=u,  as  in  son. 

Silent  letters  are  italicized.  Unaccented  syllables  not  likely  to  be  mis- 
pronounced are  frequently  left  unmarked. 


A dri  at'ic 
Ag'nes 
A grip  pi'na 
Ag'ui  lar 
A'hab 
A1  ver'nus 
Ap'en  nlne§ 
Ar  i M'ne 
Aw'gus  tine 
Av'a  Ion 

Bal'ti  more 
Ba^'il 


Ben'e  diet 
Blen'tarn  GhfW 

Qae  cil'i  a 
Cal  a tra'va 
Ca  lig'u  la 
Cam  pa'ni  a 
Cam  pa  ni'le 
Car'mel 
Car  pi  ne'to 
Ca  tu'lus 
Qhar'le  ma^ne 
Qha  teau'bri  and  (-to'- 
223 


Ches'a  peake 
Cif  u en'te§ 

Cla2('di  us 
Clu'sium  (-slium) 

Co  logne  (-Ion) 

Co  mi'tium  (-shum) 
Co  per'ni  cus 
Cor'do  va 
Cor  vi'nus 

Dan'te 

De  mos'the  ne§ 

•)  Don'^e  leg 


224 

E tru'ri  a 
E trus'can 
Eu  la'lie 
E van'ge  line 

Fa  ler'ni  i’ 

Ga'bri  el 
Gal  i a'ni 
Gal  i le'o 
Gal  va'ni 
Get'tys  burg 
Gra  na'da 
Grand  Pre 
Gras'mere 

Ha  vqun' 

Ha'u  y 
Her  min'i  us 
Ho  ra'tius  (-shus) 

Je  ho'va/i 
Ju  de'a 

Kal'ki 

La  er'te§ 

Liir'tius  (-shus) 


SEVENTH  YEAH 

Lawn'fal 
Law'su  lus 
Ley'va 
Lu  9’i'na 
Mael'stroin 
Ma  nil'i  us 
Mar' mo  ra 
Ne  qui'num 
Nev'iUe 
Os'ti  a 

Ouida  (we'da) 

PM  a tt'nus 
Pawl  et' 

Pawl'us 
Pecci  (petch'i) 

Pe  ru'gi  a • 

Pi'§a 

Po  lo'ni  us 
Pon'^e 
POr'se  na 
Prin'ki  po 
Pro  me'theus 
QuM  ra'tus 
Quee'queeg 


Sar'a  cen 
Sa  yMve  dr  a 
Se  bas'tian 
Se'ius 
Se  jii'nus 
Sex'tus 
Soc'ra  te§ 
Spu'ri  us 
Siam  bowl' 

Tash'te  go 
Ter  tul'lus 
Thel'lus 
Ther  mop'y  lae 
Ti'ber 
Ti  be'ri  us 
Ti  fer'num 
Tyr  r/ie'ni  an 

Ven'ice 
Ve  ro'na 
Vi  ter' bo 
Vol  sin'i  um 
Vol  taire' 

Y§'a  bel 


•pnyle. 

author 


Catholl°__Rga^g£^ 


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